A Mind to Tear a Soul in Two
by PunkyBrewToo
Summary: As the youngest in a family hell bent on conquering the world, Charlotte Shelby struggles to find her place in the chaos. Standing in the shadows as her brothers stab and shoot their way up in society, Charlotte desperately works to prove herself worthy of the Shelby name, all the while attempting to discover who she is beneath the labels and family reputation.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Finn Shelby does not exist.

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A Mind to Tear a Soul in Two: Chapter One

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"Charlie!" Arthur bellowed from downstairs, "Oi! Charlie! Get your ass down here, there's someone here who wants to take a look at ya."

Rolling her eyes Charlotte considered ignoring her brother, absolutely hating it when things were demanded of her. But she had been stuck in her room for the past three days and she was desperate to spend time anywhere outside of these four walls.

"Coming!" She yelled back.

Charlotte rolled out of bed and tucked her blouse into her grey trousers. Grabbing a belt from the floor she wrapped it around her waist, and stepped into a pair of John's old shoes. Still getting use to the new women's clothes that had been gifted to her, she gave herself a once over in the mirror before she headed down.

The outfit had been a gift from her sister and aunt. For years now Ada had been desperate to get Charlotte out of their brother's old shirts and worn down trousers and into something more suited for a young girl. Knowing full well that she was not interested in skirts and dresses, Ada and Polly had conspired to buy her a handful of new blouses and 'women's trousers'. All in effort to replace the hand-me-downs she'd gotten from her brothers.

She had been skeptical at first, refusing to try on a single pair of the heeled shoes that they had brought home. But she had to admit that the trousers fit much better than anything she'd ever owned before, and she knew it made Polly happy seeing her dress more like Ada. Her aunt had always hated Charlotte following her brothers around Small Heath trying to be like them; dress like them, act like them, curse like them. Polly said it was going to get Charlotte hurt and in big trouble one day.

She wasn't wrong either. One day, a few years before the war, Charlotte had had enough of a schoolmate bullying her about their mother's death and lack of a father. She was tired of getting kicked in the shins and told that she'd end up in the workhouse, orphaned and all alone. She became dead set doing exactly what her brothers would do: knock those words right out of Elijah Miller's big fat mouth.

One morning before school she snatched Arthur's razor cap from where he left it on the table, hid it in the bottom of her school bag, and waited until the end of the day for Elijah to make an appearance in the school yard. She wasn't disappointed. Strolling up to her with a stupid smirk on his face, the boy wasn't able to get a single word out before she was on him.

The fight only lasted a minute or two, but she got a fair amount of cuts and kicks in before the teacher managed to separate the two children. She had been sent home with a split lip, a bruised cheek, and a note saying that her brother could visit the school house if he'd like his cap back. Once she had arrived home her aunt and brothers had demanded an explanation for her behaviour. She'd never been one for fighting before, why now?

Sitting down at the table she told them about the name calling, threats that the coppers would take her away, as well as the perfectly timed kicks he delivered while the teachers weren't looking. Arthur had listened, getting more and more angry as she went on, finally asking why she hadn't come to one of them for help.

"Because..." she explained, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, "...I wanted to teach that fucking cocksucker a lesson, all by meself."

At this Arthur had spit his drink and almost cracked a rib laughing, saying she had the makings of a Peaky Blinder, no doubt. Her aunt, on the other hand, had walloped her a good one, making sure she wouldn't be able to fight, sit, or get the taste of soap out of her mouth for weeks to come.

Smiling at the memory of Elijah Miller crying his stupid eyes out after the fight, Charlotte hurried down the stairs. Jumping down the last step she paused to see Arthur handing a platted sandwich to a familiar looking man. Looking at his face she couldn't tell how old he was, but it was obvious that he was much older than Polly. With memorable and significant wear and tear around his face, Charlotte knew that she had seen him before, but couldn't quite place him. Looking over to Arthur, he held a grin and expectant eyes, but no explanation left his mouth.

Without words, the man stepped forward to engulf Charlotte in a hug. Catching her off guard, and not sure how to react, she kept her arms at her sides. Letting the embrace take place and hoping it would be over as soon as it started. He soon let go of her but held onto her shoulders keeping her an arms distance away.

"Let me look at ya." He examined her, making Charlotte blush, both in irritation and embarrassment. "So grown up, me little Lottie. I can't believe it."

Not liking this examination, and not understanding who this man was, she gave John a questioning look from over the man's shoulder. He avoided his eyes, shifted his weight, and looked down. Finding no answers with either of her brothers she brought her gaze back to the man who still held her shoulders.

Giving a small smile she quietly asked, "Do I know you?"

The man straightened, the grin disappearing from his face. She heard John chuckle and Arthur clear his throat.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to–" she began, not sure why her question seemed to turn the room sour.

Finally deciding to intervene, Polly stepped forward to stand behind Charlotte. Removing the man's hands from her niece, she propelled the young girl forward toward John.

Polly took a deep breath and introduced Charlotte to the man before her, "Sweetheart, this is my big brother, Arthur. Your father."

Charlotte watched as Polly headed back to the mantle for a cigarette, shutting the shop doors on her way to prevent anybody from snooping. John reached his arm around his sister, pulling her close and letting her lean on him. It was her turn to look the man up and down. She took in his dark, tidy hair — much like Arthur's and Tommy's. He had wild green eyes, that happened to match both hers and her sisters. And lastly, his smirk that reminded her all too much of John.

A distant memory hummed in the back of her mind. A young girl drifting to sleep in her father's arms, reaching up and asking, "Da, why'd ya get those scars on your face?"

The silence in the room was a heavy weight as Charlotte became lost in her mind, trying to follow the thread that would lead her to more memories. Oblivious to the expectation for her to break the silence, she stood, consumed in her thoughts. Arthur Jr., unable to take the silence a moment longer informed his father that their sister, Ada, had recently had a baby of her own.

"He's a tough little thing, he is, like his uncles."

"And his mother." Charlotte added, standing up straight and throwing a glare Arthur's way.

"Ada's been taking care of him all on her own since Tommy had his father locked up–" John interrupted her, "Come on Lottie, we all know Tommy didn't snitch on Freddy."

"That's what he says. It doesn't matter anyway because Ada thinks he did. So now she won't let any of us see her, not even Aunt Pol, and she's got no one helping her to take care of a new baby. I don't think a single one of you could take care of a baby all by yourself. John can hardly keep his own kids from shooting their fingers off! Ask me? She's tougher than all you put together."

John boxed her on the ear for her comment, growling in irritation, but she didn't care. She wasn't going to let her father get the impression that his daughters didn't measure up to his sons.

Laughing at her impetuous outburst, Arthur Sr. turned his gaze to his youngest once more. "Little Lottie, wearing trousers and speaking your mind! How old are you now? Twelve? Thirteen? You couldn't be much older th–"

Interrupting his train of thought Charlotte glared, "I'm fourteen. Well, almost fourteen." John laughed, "You won't be fourteen 'till next year. Saying otherwise won't make it happen sooner." Charlotte huffed rolling her eyes at her brother.

Interrupting their moment her father started in, "No, no, no, me girl. You don't want to grow up any faster than ya need to."

Looking down she muttered under her breath, "I'm not your girl..."

But her father pressed on, "Tough as nails, this one. I can tell. Just like her mother." Charlotte looked back up to her father. Taking a step forward away from the wall, she asked, "Can you tell me about her? Nobody here ever talks about her. There's so much I want to know–"

Interrupting, her aunt made herself known again, "I don't think we need to go revisiting the past."

Raising his voice in frustration their father spoke to their aunt, "Please, woman. I'm a guest of the head of this house and I'd like to tell my daughter about her mother. Why don't you tend to your mangle or your scuttle?"

John scoffed at their father, "The head of the house ain't here."

Looking to his oldest for an explanation, Arthur Jr. started on about Tommy's role in the family business. "...helps me out more now..."

Noticing the disgust in her father's face, Charlotte realised that their father was disappointed in his oldest. Her brother became embarrassed, and continued to mumble on. In an effort to distract her father from her brother, Charlotte was about to ask about her mother again, when she was interrupted once more.

The back door opened and Tommy sauntered into the kitchen. "Well, speak of the devil! How are ya son?" Their father stood up to great his second oldest.

Tommy stood silent and motionless. The room chilled as they all anxiously waited for Tommy to address his father. Unable to stand still with all the tension, Charlotte rocked on her feet and shoved her hands into her pockets.

The movement caught her brother's attention and his gaze turned to her. "Charlie, upstairs. Now."

She hated it when he was demanding. She hated when he treated her like a child. And she hated the idea of spending the rest of the day in her room. Glaring at her brother, she tried to come up with the right thing to say that could change his mind. Shaking her head she looked to her father and back up to her brother.

Stumbling over her words, "But Arthur said– I– You can't– He's–" Polly knew this wasn't going to end well.

She interrupted her niece's stuttering, "Sweetheart..." Polly made sure Charlotte was looking directly into her eyes as she attempted to convey the seriousness of the situation. "Sweetheart, you're already in trouble. You haven't been allowed to leave your room in three days. Let's not make this harder than it needs to be. Do what your brother says."

Anger radiated off of Charlotte at her aunt's words. Clenching her fists and squaring her shoulders she began to argue, "But Pol! It's Da. Right here. For the first time in– ever! And– And–"

Her argument faded off as she became distracted by John behind her, "Wonder where he's been, eh?"

Turning her frustration on him, "Fuck off, John!" Whipping her head back around to Polly, "I want to talk with him!"

Jerking her chin at Tommy, she went on, "He can't do this. He can't make me. This isn't right. I want to know about her. Shaking her head with more vigour, "No. Just– NO!" Her last shout aimed at Tommy glaring at him in defiance.

Gazing back, unaffected by her outburst, he cleared his throat, "Charlotte, I won't tell you a third time. Get upstairs. Now." His voice cold and unforgiving, she clenched her jaw and tears welled in her eyes.

Looking to Arthur for help, he avoided his gaze, finding the table far more interesting. She stomped her foot in frustration and took a step toward the green doors. She looked at her father one last time. He smiled and put up a hand to stop her from taking another step.

"Now, son, I was about to tell your sister here all about your dearly departed mother. It seems you boys aren't doing her justice. You're not keeping her memory alive." Polly groaned and at their father's words and Tommy narrowed his eyes, drawing the last bit of warmth from the room. His eyes never leaving his father's, Tommy muttered his brother's name, "John..."

Taking a breath and pushing himself off the wall, John knew this wasn't going to end well. His sister would not give up easily, and Tommy wasn't going to stand by while their father tried to weasel his way back into their home. And for all the bitter cold Tommy's glare was giving, more heat was radiating off Charlotte in her anger.

"Yeah, yeah." taking a step forward "Come on now, Lottie..." Glancing at Tommy as he made his move, John grabbed his sister by the shoulders holding on tight and forcefully guiding her forward, past their father, toward the green doors.

Charlotte took two small steps forward before she growled in frustration and tried to shake free of John's grasp. "Fine!" She yelled, pausing to gather her strength once more. Turning she pushed John off of her, raising her fist toward him.

"I'm going! Get off of me!" She grabbed the handle on the green door and turned her face over her shoulder, "I fucking hate you, Thomas." The door flew open wide, slamming against the wall and she stomped up the stairs toward the bedrooms.

As she reached the top she could hear her father laughing, "That girl there is small and deadly. She's got a stubborn mind that could tear a soul in two."

Realising that nobody downstairs could see her at the top of the stairs. She lowered herself to the floor and strained to hear the rest of the conversation. Nothing. She couldn't hear a thing.

Leaning closer to the stairwell, Tommy's voice finally drifted up, "Get out."

"Come on, son. I'm a changed man." There was a cold edge to their father's voice.

Tommy matched the tone immediately, "This family needed you twelve years ago when you walked out on it. Not now. Get out of this house."

Charlotte couldn't hear what Arthur said next, but she did hear Tommy's raised voice telling his older brother to shut up. Chairs moved and feet scuffed on the wooden floors.

"It's all right, son. Arthur Shelby never stays where he is not welcome. Quite something you've become." A pause then, "Give your sisters my love." More shuffled steps and the front door slammed shut.

After a moment Arthur voiced Charlotte's thoughts, "He's our dad." Tommy fired back, "He's a selfish bastard." Arthur scoffed, "You calling someone a selfish bastard? That's a bit rich, Tommy. I mean, thanks to you we're already down a bloody sister. And that one up there, she's ready to run out on us too."

"You want to see him, Arthur? You want to see him? You can go with him." More steps and the door slamming again. Charlotte knew she should head down the hall to her room, but the possibility of learning more held her to her spot.

She heard John ask what he should do about Arthur. Then mumblings from her aunt. Pacing. Then Polly's voice came through a bit louder this time, "What are you going to do, Thomas? You need to stop carrying the world on your shoulders. Let me help."

Tommy's voice this time, "No. I've got to take care of this business myself now don't I, Pol?" The second door leading into the betting shop creaked open. Charlotte assumed that there must be something important that Tommy needed to take care of in his office.

Charlotte had been hearing a lot about a man named Billy Kimber, and whispers about stolen guns. But lately her brothers had been keeping her far enough away from business that she never really knew what was happening and who was involved.

Lost in her thoughts Charlotte startled when the shouting started up again. Standing at the bottom of the stairs looking up at her was Tommy.

"Oi! What did I tell you to do?" His cold demeanour gone, he was raging now. She knew that she should get up, without saying a word, and walk to her room. But she was furious that Thomas had kicked their father out and taken away any real chance she had to get to know him.

Unable to keep her attitude in check, Charlotte cocked an eyebrow, looked Tommy dead in the eye, and replied, "I'm upstairs, aren't I?"

She was right, she should've taken her chance and run to her room without saying a damn thing. His foot stomped on the first step, "You know what I fucking meant." Each word raised in volume, punctuated by his marching up the stairs.

Charlotte scrambled to get her feet under her, barrelling down the hallway into her room. Slamming the door, Tommy was still raging at her, "Charlotte, you open that door. Right. Fucking. Now."

She managed to get her chair wedged under the handle before her brother reached the door, preventing him from storming in and strangling her.

"I swear to God, Charlotte...!" He was rattling the door handle, trying to push open the door. She leaned against the chair keeping the door shut, stunned. She had no idea what her next move should be.

She couldn't remember the last time Tommy had been this angry. Panicked, she tried to tell herself that she could make an escape out the window. She could shimmy out on her stomach, keep hold of the brick ledge, and then her drop would only be about five feet or so. She'd get bruised on the landing, but she'd be alive. She wasn't convinced she'd be alive if she stayed in the house.

She was saved from her poorly conceived plan by Polly trying to reason with her brother. "Thomas, leave the poor girl alone. You go on to business, I'll talk with her. She's emotional–"

"No!" Tommy stopped her from continuing, "I'm dealing with this now. I'm tired of being disobeyed and defied in this home and in this business. First Ada, running off and marrying Freddy. Then Arthur brining that man into this house. Now Charlotte, taking after her big sister with this attitude–" Polly cut in, "It's your attitude too, Thomas."

Pausing his tirade, she heard her brother take a breath. When he started speaking again he was deadly calm.

"Charlotte Shelby, open this door immediately." Another pause. Another breath. "If you don't open it right now, I will break it down. You know I will. Should you force me to do so, you will not like the consequences."

She shouted back through the door, "Just fuck off and leave me alone!" She tried to stop the words as they left her mouth. They were childish. It wasn't what she wanted to say. But she didn't know what exactly it was that she did want to say. She needed to take a breath and figure out a way to talk this through with him.

Interrupting her thoughts Tommy continued on, "Charlotte, open this door now, or I will break it down. If I break it down, you will lose the door. I'll not be getting you a new one. Then I will then take every single book you have in that room, and I will destroy them."

Looking around her room at all the books strewn about on the floor, cluttering the one bookcase, stacked in corners, she didn't think Tommy would actually take them away from her. Her library was her most prised collection. She'd been collecting them all her life. It was the only thing she and Ada could bond over.

"You wouldn't." she whispered through the door.

"Watch me." Was his cold response. "Those books will be gone. I'll tear them apart and burn them to a bloody crisp. Those pages will start the stove in the morning. They'll be what keep our rooms warm at night. They'll be lining the tinder box. Every time you have a cup of tea, you'll be warming the kettle with those pages."

Polly came to her defence, "Thomas, think about what you're saying. You wouldn't do that, not to our Charlie. You're only upset about your father. Come on now, leave her be." Scoffing at her words Tommy continued on, "I've had enough of this. Open the door now, Charlotte. You know the consequences."

She did know the consequences. He had clearly explained every detail to her. Her entire life Tommy generally spoke to her as an equal. He'd always gone on about how if he spoke to her as an adult, she'd act like one. Which is why it made her so angry when he turned cold and demanding. Any time he actually involved her in the business they hid nothing. Everything was on the table. She helped. She made decisions. But she hated being involved one day then told to fuck off the next. Polly tried to keep her out of the business entirely, but Tommy said she needed to work on her 'critical thinking skills', which he often told her she was lacking whenever she got herself into trouble. Tapping her on her forehead he'd lecture, "If you'd just stop and think about the results of your actions before you made a decision you'd have an easier go of things." She hated it when he was right.

There was a long pause, but eventually Tommy heard the small voice on the other side of the door. "Ok. Alright. But, just wait, please. Please Tom, let me move the chair, ok? And don't knock me over."

He grunted in response, and behind him Polly sighed in relief.

Looking down he saw the handle wiggle on the door, he heard the scraping of a chair across the room. After a creak of the floorboards and the whine of the bed springs he finally heard a small, contrite, "Alright, it's open."

Opening the door he saw his sister sitting on her bed clutching two books in one hand and unsuccessfully trying to hide a few more under her quilted bedding. Tears brimmed her eyes and her face was full of rage. Just another Tuesday for the Shelby family.

Standing in the doorway he slowly pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. He took his time. Letting Charlie sit there, waiting, stewing, wondering. Letting himself take a steadying breath before he started in on her.

"You're pushing me, little girl. This is not the time for this behaviour. There's too much happening–" interrupting him, "But you never let me in the meetings anymore. I never know what's happening!"

Staring her down at the interruption, she blinked and looked away. "Right. Well, maybe it's time to change that. But you need to get yourself together. No more of this..." waving his cigarette around "...behaviour. Do you understand me?"

Waiting for a response and not hearing one he raised his voice, "Do you understand me, Charlotte?"

"Yes."

"Good." As he stood there, he took a deep breath, finalising in his mind what punishment his sister would receive. "Now stand up." He waited for her to obey. Not looking at him she slowly inched her way off the bed, books still in her hand.

Chuckling to himself he knew what she was thinking, "You think you're getting the strop, eh? You sure as hell deserve it. Don't you?" Pausing to let her squirm under his assessment, waiting to see if she'd answer him. He shook his head, exhausted, "But, no. Not today, Charlie. I don't have time for any of this today."

Hearing that her punishment would be less severe than she had imagined she finally stood and took a step in his direction. Tommy continued, "Right. Now, you pick out ten of your books and hand them to me."

Surprised, a choked sob escaped her lips, "No! Tommy, please, I opened the door. Please." This time the tears fell. Tears for her stories, but none for her family.

Exasperated, he sighed again, "Calm down, Charlie. I'm taking them as collateral. I'm not burning them. They're going in my office as a guarantee that you'll be on your best behaviour this next week. There's a lot that's going to be happening and if you behave, you'll get them back. But, if you act out, the books are gone. Do you understand? Are you hearing me?"

Looking down, Charlotte nodded her head. "Say it." Tommy demanded.

"Yes. I hear you."

He continued on, "Now do as I asked and pick out ten books and hand them to me."

Sighing she turned and set the two books that were clutched in her hands on her bedside table. She then started toward the single small bookshelf near the window. She hadn't taken even three steps when she heard Tommy's rebuke, "No, I don't think so, Charlie. I know your system here."

Once again waving his cigarette to point at her stacks of books, "Those books there are old children's books; you don't read them anymore. No. Try again." Turning to look at her brother he jerked his head toward the ones she'd only a moment ago set down. "Those ones, there. That's one and two. Hand those over. And those two on the pillow, three and four."

Throwing her hands up she started to argue with him, "But I'm in the middle–" Tommy took his first step into her room, clearly losing his patience, "Do as I say, Charlotte."

Stomping back to the small table she grabbed the books he requested and thrust them at his chest. "Pick out the rest from under that blanket there, on your bed. Those seem important enough to hide from me, they'll be important enough to keep you behaved."

Ignoring his sister's groans of injustice, he turned with the first four books in his hands to pass off to Polly. Taking the books she gave a knowing smile, and whispered "I knew you wouldn't have destroyed them. You're a gangster, Tommy Shelby, but you're soft on her."

Rolling his eyes he turned his attention back to his sister. Sitting on the bed muttering to herself mockingly as she threw books around, obviously stalling, "...'choose' he says. 'I don't have time for this' he says. 'Do this', 'don't do that'. I'm Tommy, I'm the king of the bloody–" Walking forward, his patience completely gone,

"Alright, that's enough. Give me those." He said pointing to six more books. Nodding, Charlotte reluctantly handed over her most valued possessions, unsure if she'd get them back. Tommy took the books, turned and handed them to Polly. "I need one more minute with her, Pol, then I'll be down."

She took the books and made her way back to the stairs through the wall that had been knocked down to create a hallway between the first two homes the family had owned. Taking her time getting back down the stairs, Polly began to reminisce.

Not long after the illegal gambling business had taken off Arthur Shelby Sr. had purchased the home next door to expand their business. With the help of his sons they had managed to renovate the two homes into something that would be able to handle both the growing business and the growing family.

Around the time that her sister-in-law had become pregnant with Charlotte — and herself with her Michael for that matter — Arthur and the boys decided to surprise their mother with an indoor washroom. She had started having a hard time getting up and down the stairs with the baby kicking her bladder all day and night. So they knocked down the staircase in the main house, installed water pipes and sinks, laid down upstairs flooring, and managed to fit a toilet into the downstairs room.

Everyone had been impressed, the first house in Small Heath to have an indoor toilet and washroom and those boys were the cock of the walk for weeks. Sighing at the memories she put Charlie's books on Tommy's desk; it would be a miracle if that girl got these books back at the end of the week. Looking at the clock on the wall she realised the dinner hour was fast approaching and she'd need to feed these Shelby's something, and soon.

Tommy turned back to the petulant sister pouting on her bed and rolled his eyes. "Now, listen. John's been on my ass about involving you more in the business. Says that you're getting into more trouble on your own not knowing what's going on than if you were more involved. And at this point I'm starting to agree."

Charlotte sat up straighter a small grin appearing on her face.

"Wipe that smile off your face. This isn't a guarantee. Now, today was your last day stuck in here for that rum you stole from the Garrison on Saturday, yeah?" The grin was gone, a scowl replacing it as she nodded. "Well, now you won't be leaving this room for the rest of the week for that shit you just pulled. When the week is over, you and me, we'll have another discussion. Then we'll have a family meeting and you'll have your vote."

She quietly thanked him as he stubbed out his cigarette on the door frame. "Don't thank me yet. I've still confiscated ten of your books. I expect you to behave. That means following orders. Keeping that mouth of yours shut. And for fucks sake Charlie, stay in this room, yeah?" Biting her lip, Charlotte nodded in reply. "Good. Now, this door stays open. No more barricades. And I want to see you being a precious angel if I look down the hall."

Charlotte couldn't help a small laugh at that. "That means you better be in this room for me to see. No sneaking out when you think I'm asleep. No sleeping in Uncle Charlie's yard with the horses. You stay here. If those mates of yours come 'round, I'll send John out to scare them off. I'm serious."

Charlotte nodded at his rules. "Good. I'm also confiscating this chair." He said while grabbing the chair she'd used to lock her brother out of the room. "This will going in my room until further notice." Pointing a finger at her to emphasise his point, "You stay here. I've got to deal with some business with Pol."

As Tommy turned to take her chair across the hall, past the washroom, and into his own room, Charlotte knew she needed to say something while she had his attention.

"Tom... Tommy?" He turned to her, eyebrow raised.

"I'm sorry. About before. I didn't mean it. What I said, when I said I hated you. I don't, I promise." Unsure how her brother would react to what she would say next she tentatively continued. "And I'm sorry about Da, I didn't know you hated him so much. It's just... It's just that it's not fair. They were both gone before I was old enough to remember them. You all got to spend so much time together, even Ada. But I didn't get a chance to make any memories with them, and none of you will share the memories you have with me."

Taking a breath and trying not to cry, she continued. "Before the war I know it made you sad when I asked about them, you hated me bringing it up — Arthur and John too. And I know I asked a lot."

Tommy shook his head, remembering her persistence.

"Did you know that when you came back Aunt Pol told me not to bring it up anymore? She said that things would be different now, and that for your sake the past had to stay buried in the past. And I understand that, I do. I think. I understand that there's been too much... badness. I understand that you saw and did terrible things over there."

Furiously wiping away a tear that managed to escape, she paused to chew on her lip, thinking hard.

"Sometimes it feels like I lost my whole family in the war. I'm grateful that I got all my brothers back, but I miss the people you use to be, I miss the way things were before. But more than that, I miss not having a mother. I know I can't miss something I never truly had. It doesn't make sense. But I never got to know her, and I still don't know anything about her. But you do. You all do. You all knew her — and Da too. I know I'm not supposed to bring up the past, but it's not fair..."

Taking a ragged breath and wiping her nose with the back of her hand, her traitorous tears fell in earnest. More words began to tumble out of her mouth, unsure of her point anymore, but unable to stop, "It's not fair, and I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't. But I don't know what to do. I don't know, Tommy. I'm just sorry. I'm so sorry..."

Quickly walking back to Charlotte, Tommy sat on the edge of her bed and let his sister throw herself into his lap, curling into a ball, her small body wracked with sobs. He leaned back against the bed frame and stroked her hair, trying to comfort her, realising that she hadn't had a breakdown like this since before the war, when she was only a child — back when they were all only children.

"It's alright Charlie girl. I know you're sorry, I know. It'll be alright. Just breathe, and it'll all be better. I'll talk to the boys and we'll figure something out. Alright? Put it out of your mind."

It didn't take long for Charlotte's tears to dry up, after all, she'd never been one for tears, that had always been Ada's way. Eventually silence settled in on the two, both lost in their own minds. Tommy pulled out a cigarette and searched his jacket pockets for a match. As he exhaled a cloud of smoke and flicked his ashes onto a plate leftover on the bed from breakfast, Tommy began to relax.

Looking down at Charlotte, still a ball in his lap, he whispered, "We haven't done this in a long time, have we?" Charlotte nodded her head, but didn't make a sound, clearly not wanting to talk. Tommy let the silence take over once again.

After nearly a half of an hour Charlotte's breath had evened out and she was fast asleep. Tommy reached over and tried to pull Charlotte's blanket over her. Realising he couldn't without a mountain of books crashing off the bed. He attempted to move the ones she'd tried to hide from him to the floor, but only managed to knock over a stack near his feet.

Sighing, he let it be and made a mental note that she'd need to clean this mess while she was stuck in here this week. Grabbing the plate — now covered in cigarette ash — he slid off of the bed, trying not to wake Charlie or knock over any more books in the process.

At his movement Charlotte stretched and her eyes fluttered open, groggily looking up at him. Unsure if she was actually awake he whispered to her, "Go back to sleep, Charlie girl. I'll come get you when dinner's ready." She mumbled something incoherent and curled back up, immediately asleep. He found himself becoming jealous of her quick retreat into darkness as he made his way down to the kitchen. To Polly and to business.

"What was all that about?" Polly questioned him, taking the dirty plate and motioning him to sit at the table.

"I don't know yet, Pol. But I think she's been angry for longer than any of us imagined."

She smirked at him, "Of course, she's a Shelby isn't she? Just like her brothers, she takes on the weight of the world, and smiles while doing it. She tries to do what she can to keep her family safe and protected. And she thinks that means keeping everything bottled up and hidden from everyone. You'll never hear her voice her troubles, but you'll find her stealing rum and fighting boys twice her size out near your uncle's yard. She carries on like a soldier, trying to be just like you."

Tommy knew she was scolding him, in her own way.

"I know you won't want to hear this, but your father wasn't wrong — what he said before — about her splitting a soul in two. I'm just not sure if it'll be her own or someone else's."

Getting up to pour himself a whisky he told his aunt, "I'm not interested in any gypsy fortunes or prophecies, Pol. Charlie will be fine, I'll see to it myself."

Downing his glass, he poured himself another.

"I think I know what it'll take to get her to stop with all this stealing, and fighting, and lying–"

Interrupting, Polly scolded him further, "All it would take, Thomas, is a switch and a bar of soap — just like when you were young. While you boys were gone she was a saint. Well, as much of a saint as any Shelby could be. But the point is, I handled her, I handled both your sisters for that matter. All while I ran this business–"

Now it was Tommy's turn to interrupt, "Enough, Pol. Enough. I've heard it before, I don't want to hear it again."

Slamming his glass on the table he continued, "The men came back. We're back, and I'm handling things now — both the business and my sister. So drop it, we have more important things to fight about. We need to focus on Kimber and this Chief Inspector Campbell."


	2. Chapter 2

A Mind to Tear a Soul in Two: Chapter Two

* * *

"What in the bloody hell is that racket?" Arthur asked, sitting at the table in the family's house, head in his hands.

Tommy grimaced at the question. All day long he'd been desperately trying to ignore the noise coming from the first floor. "Leave it. She's doing it on purpose. I told her to fix up the mess in her room, so she's decided to push her bookcases across the hall, and rearrange everything — without help. She's banging around up there trying to create as much noise as possible just to irritate me. So ignore her."

Upstairs Charlotte had managed to get her three bookcases moved away from the walls and one of them halfway out Tommy's bedroom door. Sweating and breathing heavily she told herself that she could do this. No brothers necessary. Tommy said he wanted her new room cleaned and tidied up, so she was taking this opportunity to go all in.

She didn't like that he was forcing her to do it, but she knew it would be nice to have all her belongings in the right order. It also didn't hurt that she knew all the noise was getting into Tommy's head. He was trying to ignore all the stomping and scraping, but she could tell it was getting to him. Which made her endlessly happy. Especially given that Tommy was the reason that she was forced to switch bedrooms in the first place.

When the boys had gotten back from France it had taken Tommy all of six weeks to figure out that his kid sister was escaping in the middle of the night out the window in her bedroom at the back of the house to run around Birmingham. He had noticed her missing from bed late one night so he'd asked around to see what the girl was doing while she was suppose to be sleeping.

Their Uncle Charlie had given him a tip that she'd taken to showing up in the middle of the night to spend time with the horses. He'd told Tommy that he didn't mind having his niece show up unannounced, out of all of the Shelby kids, she reminded him most of his sister. With her unkempt dirty blonde curls and freckles nose, the girl loved to run wild — just like his own little sister had. She was always sneaking around while nobody was looking, running in the field out where he let his horses graze. Occasionally she'd steal a horse from the stables, disappear for hours, return at nightfall to cool down the horse, and make it back home in time for supper.

Mischievous was an understatement.

But she was a light in the darkness. Always happy to lend a hand, she worked well with the horses — she worked well with anything he'd ask of her for that matter — and never worried about getting her hands dirty. And to top it all off, Curly loved having the girl around, often saying that she was blessed with the mind to speak to the beasts.

For years now Curly had been sweet on Charlotte, and she knew it. She'd go out of her way to spend time with him, making sure he was the first person she greeted and the last person she saw at the end of the day. She also knew this meant that Curly would never tattle on her to her aunt or brothers. Curly liked keeping her secret, it gave them a bond. He often said he knew it would be a good day if there was a Charlie girl sleeping with the horses in the morning.

But Charlie Strong had known that his nephews wouldn't approve of his namesake sneaking out to his yard at night all on her own. He also knew that the horses weren't her only late night destination. During the war he'd had no problem keeping his niece's secrets from her aunt, but since November things had started changing, and everyone knew it. He didn't want to break her confidence, but he'd made a promise to his sister to keep her youngest out of harm's way, and with all the men coming back, Birmingham was not as safe as it once was.

Tommy had tried to put a stop to it immediately, but he'd caught her climbing back in through her window at dawn with hay in her hair twice. And the third time John found her with a group of friends at the Commons Dance Hall one night in December while she should've been locked up in her room, due to the aforementioned sneaking in.

Dragging her back to the house on Watery Lane, John had nearly woken up the entire street pounding on the door yelling for Tommy to come down and fetch her.

"John, I've got a key, you don't need to go making Tommy come down to open the door. Just stop and let me open the damn thing." Ignoring her, John held onto her elbow with one hand, and with the other continued pounding on the door.

She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, and looking up she saw Ada watching them through the window in her bedroom, laughing and shaking her head. Finally the door flew open and Tommy stood there furious, gun in hand, pointed directly at John.

Without flinching at the weapon in his face, John jerked Charlotte forward, practically flinging her at Tommy, "I think you've misplaced this. You know you've got to keep a closer eye on her, Tom."

Sighing Tommy uncocked the gun, grabbed her by the neck, and growled out, "John, next time just open the bloody door yourself. Don't make a scene and force me to come down for the show you're putting on for the neighbours." Looking around the street Charlotte could see a few faces poking out through their curtains, trying to see what all the commotion was about.

John nodded and walking up the street he shouted over his shoulder, "I thought she could do with the whole street knowing she's about to get a beating." Charlotte's face flushed red, Tommy tightened his grip, and marched her upstairs.

At the sound of their approach Ada poked her head out of her door, "What's going on–" Interrupting her Tommy ordered Ada to shut the door and go back to bed. Continuing her death march to her room, they reached the end of the hall and Charlotte tried to turn right. Instead, Tommy threw her into his room on the left and she stumbled as he shut the door behind them.

Puzzled at the change of scenery Charlotte straightened herself and began, "What are you–"

"Shut up and get into the fucking bed."

Tommy turned his back on her, expecting her to obey, while he stoked the coal in the fire. He knew this would be a long night. Turning around he saw Charlotte still standing in place, the question about to pass her lips. He took a menacing step toward her, "I told you, get in the fucking bed."

Still not moving, she chewed on her fingernails and slurred slightly, "But what about you sleeping?" She'd been drinking. He should've known. This kid was going to send him to an early grave. It wouldn't be the the gambling, guns, or the war, it would be this damned sister; at least he'd die proving Polly wrong.

"After all that noise John made trying to embarrass you on the street, I'm not going back to sleep." Then reaching out to grab her arm he took hold of her, threw her into bed, and in the same motion covered her with his quilt.

"Go to sleep. If you say one more word, I'll drag you out back, throw a bucket of water on you, and beat the tar out of you for the whole neighbourhood to hear. You want that?" Shaking her head, Charlotte shut her eyes and pulled the quilt up to her chin.

Tommy turned on his heel and took a seat at his desk. The nightmares wouldn't let him rest tonight, he might as well get some work done while he was keeping his truant sister from sneaking out and running wild. Picking up the book and going over a ledger he heard a small thump.

Looking up, Charlotte hadn't moved her body, the quilt was still tucked at her chin, and her eyes were tightly closed. But she had managed to stick her feet out from the blanket and was using one foot to try to kick off the shoe still stubbornly attached to her other foot.

After a minute of her struggling to relieve herself of the shoe, Tommy walked over, grabbed her ankle and removed the shoe himself, "Stop messing around and fucking go to sleep." As her two feet slowly slid back under the sheets, Charlotte buried her face in the pillow, and finally followed his orders.

Reaching down to grab the other shoe, Tommy noticed something curious. Something he'd previously missed in his blinded irritation at both John and Charlotte. These were heeled shoes. These were women's shoes. These were absolutely not Charlotte's shoes. "Ada..." Cursing her name he took the shoes and decided to return them to their rightful owner.

Opening the door to Ada's room he found her sitting in a lounge chair by the fire. She startled at his entrance,

"Bloody hell, Tommy. It's four in the morning." Ignoring her protest at his intrusion he held up the shoes, "What are these, Ada?"

Smirking, she replied, "Looks like a fine pair of shoes, Tommy, but I doubt they'll go with anything you have." He threw the shoes on the floor. "Why was our sister wearing your shoes and a fancy dress? You don't seem surprised or upset to find that she nicked something of yours. Why is that Ada?"

Damn. He knew she'd willingly given them to Charlie; there was no point in lying. If she was forthcoming on a little bit of the truth he'd likely not press her for the full story.

"Alright. I gave her the shoes. She said she was going out with some friends so I did her up nice. That's what big sisters are supposed to do, Thomas!" Getting defensive she crossed her arms not wanting to rat her sister out any further. Tommy wasn't having it.

"And the dress, Ada? What's she doing that she needed to wear a dress?"

Was he really going to force this out of her? "That's what girls wear! They wear dresses!"

Rolling his eyes Tommy responded, "This whole town knows that our sister doesn't wear dresses. Don't try to pull that shit with me. Is there a boy? Who is he?"

Ada laughed, "Trust me Tommy, the only boys in her life are the ones she's handing out black eyes to over by the cut." He glared at her, expecting more but she pointedly refused to answer.

"The secrets your keeping for her are going to get her hurt one day, Ada. This town isn't safe for a girl out on her own. Ada scoffed at him, "Get out Tommy. I want to go to sleep. And don't worry about our secrets, I think us Shelby girls can handle ourselves just fine."

Giving her one final glare, Tommy left the room, intentionally leaving the door open, just to annoy her. Sighing, Ada got up and closed her door. She knew with Tommy awake she wouldn't be making any early morning secret trips herself. Crossing her fingers she hoped that Charlie wouldn't let Ada's secret slip, or they'd both be in for it. Twenty two years old or thirteen, the Shelby sisters were under their brother's thumb, and they needed to keep a tight lipped ship.

Tommy had stayed up all night checking his numbers, nodding off a time or two only to jolt awake at the sound of a pickaxe coming from the other side of the wall. At dawn he'd dragged Charlie out of bed, dealt a good old fashioned whipping, and set her to task switching rooms. She'd spent the whole day carrying books and shuffling clothes from one room to the other. As part of her punishment Tommy had forced her to move his belongings, as well as her own, threatening her with another thrashing if any of his possessions were to go missing or end up broken. She'd taken extra care to put all of Tommy's things in their proper place.

Unable to take her frustration out on Tommy's things she'd simply thrown her own belongings into her new space without much care. Her brothers hadn't been available to help her to move any of the bookcases, so she was forced to leave them with Tommy. In the many months since the move it seemed like chaos reigned in the Shelby house, and none of them had had the time to help her with the cases, so her books remained strewn out on the floor.

Tommy had left one case for books, and she'd created a semi-organised system of piles that ranged from favourites closest to the bed, least favourites over in the corner by the wardrobe, and everything else in between. Other than putting her clothes into the wardrobe and fixing her bedding, Charlotte hadn't spent any effort trying to make the room her own. But now that she was damned to live the rest of her life stuck in the room, she decided to take this opportunity to move her bookcases from Tommy's room and make this new room her own.

Back downstairs, the sound of dragging furniture was driving Arthur up the wall. He couldn't hear himself think with Charlotte throwing books around, moving her bed from one wall to the other, and attempting to push the furniture from the back room to her new room at the front of the house. After a loud thud, he'd had enough.

"That's it." Arthur growled, "John, come with me."

Tommy watched while his brothers headed up the stairs. He'd have to hand it to his sister, she was following his rules and doing what was asked of her. And yet she still managed to find a way to give him hell.

Picking herself off the floor from where she'd tripped over a rug that got bunched during the rearranging, Charlotte heard the infantry coming. "Charlie! Enough with all the noise!" Arthur came stomping up the stairs with John right behind him.

"Alright, Lottie. What is it that needs to be moved? Let's get this done before Arthur puts a pistol to his head." Laughing Charlotte stuck her arm out, fingers in the shape of a gun and shot her brother, "Bang, you're dead." John threw himself up against the wall and slid down it, collapsing in a heap, tongue sticking out of his mouth.

Glaring at his brother's dead body Arthur got straight to business, "Right. This big one here, this is moving?" John picked himself up off the ground and Charlotte nodded, "You mean this big one here? The one that I've already got half way out the door? Yeah, Arthur, this big one is moving." Arthur smacked her upside the head and she continued, "And then the two other empty ones in the middle of Tommy's room. Be careful not to trip over the rug. It's caught underneath this case, I can't get it straightened out."

Sticking his head into her room Arthur looked around at the available space. She'd pushed all of her books up against the walls, but the place was still a wreck. "And where are you planning on putting three whole bookcases?"

Shrugging Charlotte responded, "Not sure yet. Just put them in the middle and I'll figure it out later."

"You know, Tommy told you to clean this place, not make it worse."

She sighed, exasperated, "I'm working on it, Arthur. You're the one that came up here with demands, you gonna help me or not?"

Nodding his head Arthur agreed, "We're gonna help you, but you're going to decide where these bookcases are going now, not later. No more pushing these around on your own. You're knocking pictures off the wall, and there's dust falling in to Johnny boy's tea cup."

Rolling her eyes at his attempted joke Charlotte tried to argue, "But Arthur, I don't know where I want–"

"Just do it. Tommy's not the only one in charge around here. And hurry up, we ain't got all day."

Knowing she wasn't going to win this fight, she grinned and gave in. "Alright, but only because you asked so very nicely." Pointing around the room she quickly decided where the bookcases would go. Once her decision was made Arthur straightened up and started barking orders. "John, you grab that end there. From the bottom, not the middle. Charlie, clear out those stacks of books, throw them on the bed and push it out of the way. Then move that chair and we'll bring in the other two."

A quarter hour later and her brothers had made quick work of the furniture. Looking around the room, it gave the impression that a tornado had come through, but her bookcases were in place and ready to be filled.

"Well, you brutes did some good work here." Charlotte smiled thanking her brothers for their help. "Any time Charlie girl. Just keep the noise down, yeah? The grown-ups have important work to do." Kissing her on the head as he ran out of the room, Arthur ducked and barely missed a hardcover edition of Oliver Twist hitting his head.

Laughing at Arthur making his retreat, John picked up the book and handed it back to her. "You know, Tommy means it, right? If you can keep outta trouble he's gonna let you in, you'll be one of the grown-ups at the table. Just like Ada was. You just gotta keep your nose clean, Lottie." Charlotte scoffed at him, "Just like Ada, John? I don't think so. He's never going to trust me like Ada. Aunt Pol won't either."

Turning to her largest bookcase she gently placed Oliver Twist on the shelf, subtly checking to make sure she hadn't caused any damage when she threw it. "I'm just the troublemaker that runs wild. The girl in boys trousers. I'm not the responsible one. Tommy's never going to see things any different. He might let me have a vote, but it won't ever be like Ada."

John shook his head disagreeing with her, "That's not true, you just gotta behave long enough to prove yourself. Honestly, I think he's got some plan for you that he's not telling any of us about. You got brains, more than Ada ever had, and he's noticed. But, if you keep getting drunk at the Commons and stealing from the pub, he'll never take you seriously."

Grumbling in response Charlotte started to explain, "I wasn't there to get drunk, John. You dragged me off before I ever got a chance to explain..."

"It doesn't matter what the explanation is, you keep disobeying him and you'll be a prisoner here forever." Charlotte signed in frustration, "I'm tired of being stuck in this room all the time. If I'm not in here, I'm in the shop. Or at school. Or with your kids. I never have any time alone anymore. I can't even go out with the horses anymore."

"Well, you ain't gonna be doing anything out in the fields with the horses if you don't grow up. You'll never get the chance. He'll have this place locked down tighter than a communist in the King's dungeon. Things are changing around–"

Interrupting Charlotte was exasperated, "You keep saying that! 'Things are changing!' 'Things are going to be different!' But I don't know what any of that fucking means! One day this place is ransacked by a bunch of mushroom picking bastards and there's a bomb in the car. The next you're getting married to one of the Lee's that tried to blow us up. One day I'm a gypsy orphan with a bunch of gangster brothers, and the next thing I know me own father shows up in the kitchen. But then Tommy kicks him out and doesn't let me speak to him. Then there's Ada... One day I got a sister, and the next day Polly's trying to send her away with tickets to New York. Is that what 'things are changing' means, John? Is it?"

Standing in front of him, fists clenched, she finally took a breath. John's only response was a raised eyebrow, a cocky grin, and an arrogant, "You feel better?"

Taking a breath she exhaled deeply, "God! You're the worst."

"No, I'm the best. You know I am. I know you better than those two idiots we call brothers, yeah?" Nodding at him she cracked a grin.

"Good, now that we both agree I'm the best, let's both agree to ignore what you said about my wife's family." Laughing at him she crossed her arms and tossed herself into the stuffed chair sitting by the fire.

"Now listen, things are changing and I'm not at liberty to explain it to you, but you'll be finding out soon enough. It's not that Tommy doesn't trust you, Lottie, it's that he's scared for you." Charlotte rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to protest, but John continued on before she got a word out. "He's scared for both you and Ada, why do you think he tried to get Ada and Freddie outta here?" She scoffed at him, "Because he's an overbearing control freak that doesn't trust anyone with an ounce of freedom or knowledge."

John shook his head, ignoring her, "He's torn, he wants to let you in. It's a family business. But he lost Ada, he doesn't want to lose you too. But you're always acting before thinking, and that's gonna get you hurt. Tommy and Aunt Pol, they keep arguing what to do with you. Pol wants you to keep clear of all of this, she thinks that's the best way. Tommy's not convinced. Because it's not that he doesn't trust you, it's that you're the same, you and Tommy. He's scared because he knows how your mind works. He knows that you're inclined to go off without thinking, like you always do, because it's what he woulda done at your age. The difference is, that Tommy had Freddy and me and Arthur by his side getting in trouble with him, keeping him from getting killed. You don't have that. Which is what I've been telling Tommy about getting you more involved. If you were part of things then you would have us at your side. You'd be safer. You'd also be too busy with us to go stealing whisky and picking fights. But like I said, you gotta keep your nose clean before he's really gonna start trusting ya."

Charlotte sat in the silence, taking in what John had told her. "You telling me the truth? Was Tommy really just like me?" Rolling his eyes, John replied, "Christ, Lottie, is that the only thing you got outta all I just said?"

"Well? Was he?"

Sighing, John knew she wasn't going to let up and it would be easier to give in and tell her what she wanted to know. God, she was just like Tommy.

Walking forward he took a seat in the chair that she'd stolen from Ada's room. "Tommy told us about you wanting to know more about from before. He said that Aunt Pol told you to keep quiet and stop asking. I didn't know that... I'm sorry she told ya to do that. I think it's because she feels guilty about being gone when Ma passed. She was strung out with her kids being taken and didn't have the right mind to deal with what was happening here."

Shaking his head he pressed on, "I think that's another story for a later time though. But as for you and Tommy... Right, well you woulda been too young to really remember, but Tommy was always sneaking out and spending time with Uncle Charlie's horses. He'd be gone for whole days at a time. Ma never worried much, she'd give him hell when he walked in that door — if Da didn't get to him first. But he did it often. He was great in school — much better than me or Arthur — but he never took the time to show up, because the fields and horses were more important. Then there was the drinking and dancing... He and Freddy were at the dance hall every other night picking up girls, getting drunk, and being rowdy. They both got kicked out a few times, even. Now the fighting, you got that from Arthur. Tommy never had to fight with Arthur by his side. If anything Tom had to make sure Arthur was behaving himself and not throwing any unnecessary punches. " Laughing, Charlotte chimed in, "I can see that."

"But can you see it, Lottie? The whole thing? He worries more about you than Ada because he knows your mind. He knows how unpredictable you can be. He might not know how to control you — he never had to control himself — but he knows you because he knows himself. You were too young to really know him before the war, but take my word for it, you're the same. That's why he's so mad about you running around by yourself and sleeping in the stables. He's mad because his kid sister turned out just like him, and he knows he'll never find a way to make you stop. The only thing that kept him away was the war. And the war changed everything..."

John stopped himself from going any further in that direction, he didn't want to get into war stories. Those were better off left for dead in the fields of France.

Taking advantage of the silence, Charlotte dug further, "But if the only thing that kept him away from the horses was the war, why's he trying so hard to stop me?"

"Because Birmingham isn't as safe as it was before. The men that came home aren't the same as when they left. There's nothing stopping one of them from having their way with any girl on the street."

Cutting in Charlotte told him, "I can handle meself."

Shaking his head at her confidence John continued, "There's also this Inspector Campbell from Belfast that's got us all watching our backs. He's dangerous, and he's got something against us. It's like it's personal between him and Tommy. And all that doesn't even include the races."

Confused at his last point, Charlotte asked, "But Tommy got the license. It's all legal now. Isn't it?" John's reply was simple, "Mostly." Charlotte narrowed her eyes at him. There was something else. Something he wasn't saying. But before she could question him on it John started speaking again.

"He's doing what he thinks is best to keep you safe. You're our kid sister, it's our job to keep you safe. With Ada off on her own now, he doesn't want to lose another sister, so he's doubling down on you. You might not be the same as Ada, but you're his twin in mind and heart, Ada understands his soul. Ada understands all of us all like a puzzle. She knows exactly what each of us needs from her. She's a mother through and though. But you, Lottie, you he loves more than any of us and he knows he can't break you, so he's keeping you locked up here until you can learn to behave."

"If he knows he can't break me, why does he go whipping me every time he catches me with the horses or running around town? If he knows that's where my heart is, why's he always punishing me for it? You know, I've gotten beaten more times since you've been back than the entire time you were away for the war."

Laughing at her John explained, "He's trying to get through to you the only way he knows how. Just be glad it's not Da or Arthur taking that strap to your backside. Trust me, I know from experience, it could be worse. You both are just too stubborn to give in. Besides, it doesn't seem like those whippings are doing you any harm."

She shrugged, "Eh, It's not that bad. I can take it just as good as any of you. It's not as bad as when Aunt Pol got me. And really, I'd rather take a whipping than end up in here for another week."

Standing up, John laughed at her, "You really are just like him. You'll take a beating if it means getting what you want in the end. But could you hold off on causing any trouble for a little while? My Katie and Ethan have been asking for their Auntie Lottie to come read to them. They miss their story time. Get it together and stop disappointing my kids, you gypsy troublemaker." Laughing at him, Charlotte watched as John made he was downstairs. "I'll try. That's the best I can do, brother."

After John had made his exit downstairs, Charlotte sat in her chair by the fire thinking over what he had told her. She could see how her sneaking out and running around Birmingham was effecting Tommy. She didn't like it, but his strangling hold on her made more sense now. She supposed that for the better of the family she could follow the rules and give Tommy a bit more control; or at the very least let him think that he'd been given more control. Maybe then he'd loosen up and let her have some wild moments.

Standing up to get back to her cleaning she clapped her hands together and told herself it was a done deal, she'd stop running off every chance she got. And maybe Tommy would give her some freedom back.

After a few hours of rearranging and moving stacks of books around, Charlotte's room was starting to look presentable. At the very least you could see the floor again. Looking around she counted about twelve books that still needed a home off the floor. Then remembering that Tommy still had another ten books captive in his office, she realised that the only available space would be on top of the wardrobe. The shelves and bookcases were full, so the wardrobe would have to do. Unable to reach the top all on her own, she walked back into Tommy's room, grabbed the desk chair he'd taken the day before and hauled it back to give her the height she needed to finish her cleaning.

Picking up her stuffed chair she set it right up against the wardrobe. She then put her desk chair on top to give her the extra height she needed to reach the top. Stepping into the stuffed chair she wobbled trying to step on to the desk chair. That wasn't going to work. She needed something to hold onto so she wouldn't fall over. Stepping down she pushed the chest of drawers to the stacked chairs and wedged the chairs between the drawers and the wardrobe. That was better. Pushing aside her mother's pitcher and water basin, as well as her framed family portrait, she placed the books within reach on the chest.

Stepping onto the stuffed chair she braced herself with the chest and gingerly climbed onto the wobbling desk chair. Looking up onto the top of the wardrobe Charlotte saw three small blue vials the size of her smallest finger. Curious, she grabbed one and popped the topper of the vial.

"Well, shit." She muttered to herself. "Snow."

She guessed Tommy had put them up there for safe keeping and forgot about them. She wondered how long they'd been up there. She wasn't necessarily surprised by the discovery, she knew Tommy used an opium pipe to help him sleep, but she'd never seen him using cocaine. Not that he'd ever knowingly let her see him using. She'd only found out about the pipe after a particularly bad night when he'd woken up screaming his bloody head off.

After the boys returned from the war she'd heard Tommy shouting in the night, every night. Aunt Polly told her to leave him be, that war did strange things to men. But as the nights went on, Tommy's nightmares got worse and worse. Sometimes Tommy would wake himself up and just start throwing things. Other times it sounded like he was about to punch his way through the walls from his room into Ada's.

It scared them to the point that Ada had taken to sleeping in the back room with Charlotte — that was, when she was sleeping in the Shelby home and not somewhere else. Eventually the sisters had asked their aunt to come back and stay at the house, they were scared that he'd to something to hurt himself and they wouldn't be able to help him.

Agreeing, Polly had managed to find excuses to stay the night for about a week before Tommy noticed and wanted to know what she was on about. Polly had taken him aside and told him that his sisters were worried about his nightmares and they were scared to be in the house alone with him. A few days after that the shouting lessened and he'd stopped throwing things. Polly had moved back to her flat and assured the girls that he had gotten himself some medication and they shouldn't worry any longer.

But the night that she found Tommy screaming, she'd never get it out of her mind. It had been a particularly dry and clear night, not long after Christmas. Charlotte had stayed up waiting for the house to clear and Tommy to go to sleep so that she could slip out unnoticed. She'd planned to head over to Uncle Charlie's yard to spend some time with her favourite horse, Annabelle. She hadn't been to visit in a week or so because of all the rain and she was growing impatient. The winter months were hard on everyone, horses included. With all the cold rain and mud, they weren't put out to graze and Charlotte could feel them getting anxious stuck up in the stables all day. Hell, she was getting anxious stuck up in her house all day.

As the house grew quite and everything became still in the night, Charlotte pulled on her boots, grabbed her jacket, and stuffed the Webley revolver John had given her into her back pocket. She'd opened up the window and was about to make her way onto the roof of the kitchen below when she'd heard the shouting.

Pausing for a moment, she waited to see what the sound was. The shout came again. Sighing she realised that it was Tommy. It was just his nightmares. It had gotten better since Aunt Pol talked with him but it was still happening regularly, and she knew to just ignore him and leave him be. Sighing she continued her climb out the window, until she'd heard the gunshot.

The sound had sent her flying to the floor. Covering her head and breathing heavily she listened carefully. Not knowing if the shot had come from Tommy or from an intruder she crawled to her bedroom door, pressing her ear against it to listen for any sounds of a fight. Then she heard Tommy shout again, and another gunshot.

Panicked Charlotte knew that something was wrong. Reaching for her own gun she stood and opened her door. Walking carefully as to not make a noise, she raised the gun, arms outstretched continuing her path to Tommy. As she reached his door everything had gone silent again. No yelling. No more gunshots. Keeping her body pressed against the wall, gun still outstretched in front of her, she reached one hand out and grasped the doorknob. Readying herself for a fight, she took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

As the door swung wide, both Shelby's moved simultaneously. Tommy's head and gun shot up as Charlotte's feet propelled her forward into his room. Everything happened before she could release her breath. She looked around not seeing anyone else as a final shot rang out.

Charlotte flinched as she felt the air move next to her. Then more shouting. Then the air was leaving her lungs as she was slammed against the wall. She tried to make sense of what was happening.

Her eyes were closed, and Tommy was yelling. Was he yelling? He ears were ringing. It was hard to tell. She felt hands on her face and she snapped her eyes open.

It was Tommy.

He looked panicked.

Funny.

Wasn't she the one that was suppose to be panicked?

He had her pressed against the wall, his hands holding her face, and he was saying something.

Confusion was written across her features as she tried to comprehend what had just happened. There wasn't anyone else here. It was Tommy shooting. It was Tommy that shot at her. Was she shot? Had her brother shot her?

Finally meeting his eyes, Tommy's voice found its way to hear ears. "What were you thinking? What were you thinking? Charlotte?" His hands shook as he removed them from her face. Running his hand down her arms he grabbed her waist and pressed on her stomach.

"Where is it? Where did I get you? Where are you hurt?" He continued to manhandle her as she realised what he was doing. Trying to find her voice she whispered, "Stop. It's ok. Stop." Ignoring her and still searching for a wound she had to shout to get his attention, "Tommy! Stop! I'm ok. Stop. Look, right there. That's where the bullet hit."

Pointing to the wall next to her Tommy stood up and looked from her to the wall and back again. Shaking and sweating he started to speak again. "What were you doing? Why did you come in here? And where the fuck did you get this gun?"

Reaching down he snatched it from her hands and threw it on the floor. Grabbing her face again he leaned closer whispering to her, "What were you thinking, huh? Why were you running in here with a gun?" Shivering she tried to explain, "I thought there was someone here. I thought... I thought that you were hurt and–"

Cutting her off Tommy finished her sentence, "And you thought you'd help me. Is that it? You thought that someone had hurt me and instead of getting out of the house, you ran in here to help? You didn't think that you'd get hurt too?"

His words reached her mind and she slowly nodded her head. Looking up at him she saw tears running down his face. She tried to take a breath only for a sob to escape and she realised her own tears had made an appearance.

Pulling her into his chest Tommy tried to lecture her, "You can't to that Charlie. You can't come running in here like that. You gotta think about these things."

His admonishment made her cry harder. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I wanted to help. I didn't know."

They stood silent, Tommy holding onto her for a minute or two before he took a breath and walked her to his bed. Sitting her on the edge he knelt in front of her. "I'm sorry, Charlie. I'm sorry for the yelling and the shooting. I'm trying to make it better. I didn't realise it was you. Do you understand that? I didn't know it was you. I didn't mean to shoot at you."

Nodding at him, he continued, "You can't do that again. You can't come in here if I'm yelling, ok? It's not safe."

Looking back at him, Charlotte responded. "But I thought you were in trouble."

Taking her hands in his, he tightened his grip. "I know Charlie, I know. But you can't do that. If you hear gunshots, you run in the other direction, ok? You run. Go get John or Arthur. But don't you try to help." Feeling dejected she agreed, "Yeah. Ok. I got it."

"Good. Now where'd you get that gun? Do you even know how to use it?" As he walked over to where he'd thrown it on the ground she tried to explain, "John gave it to me. Maybe the day after you got off the train. He said it was for emergencies. I don't know why it's a big deal... You all have them. Even Ada has one."

Walking back to her with the revolver Tommy opened the cylinder and paused. "Charlie, there's one bullet in here. You didn't think to check for bullets?"

Embarrassed, she shook her head and looked the other way. Sitting down on the bed next to her he emptied the bullet into his hand and passed the gun back to her. "Right, well. How about tomorrow I show you how to use this thing? We can go out to the field and shoot some bottles. You gotta learn before you go pointing that thing at people." Taking the bullet he opened the drawer on his bedside table and dropped it inside. He then picked up the pipe and tin cramming them in there as well.

"What's that Tom?" Not looking at her he explained, "That's to help me sleep, Charlie girl. Now why don't you go do that yourself, eh?" Pointing out the door he added, "In your bed, not in the stables."

Groaning at him she asked, "Well, if I can't go to the horses, can I stay here with you? I'll read and be quiet, I promise." Agreeing, he stood up and headed to the door, "Sure you can. But I'm going to put the kettle on. You want a cup?" She nodded and heading down the stairs he called to her, "Get those muddy boots off the bed, Charlie." Groaning she walked back to her room, rid herself of the boots and found a book to help her fall asleep.

That night Charlotte had fallen asleep in Tommy's bed with a book in her hands before he ever made it back upstairs with their tea. Putting her cup of tea on his table, and pulling her book from her hands he sat down next to her on top of the blanket, his back resting against the bed frame. Looking at her book in his hands he read the title, 'Dubliners'. Well, it looked like James Joyce would be keeping him company tonight. He didn't trust himself to fall asleep with her in the room. For fuck's sake, he'd nearly shot her tonight. He needed to be more careful. No more loaded guns under his pillow. In the morning he'd double check that she was alright, and make sure she promised to never bring this up to anyone else, ever. This needed to stay between them.

Thinking back on what was probably the worst night of her life, Charlotte put the stopper back on the vial and put it back where she'd found it. It felt a little like a trap to her. If Tommy remembered the vials and went to retrieve them and they weren't there, he'd think she'd used it and she'd be in for it. Her brothers rarely let her drink whisky, snow was definitely out of the question. But she also knew that if she handed them over, they'd likely end up in Arthur's hands, and months ago Polly had enlisted her help in keeping the stuff away from him.

She'd read in the papers that the government was working on a new law to ban certain drugs throughout all of England, and cocaine was at the top of their list. She was just going to pretend like she'd never found the vials. Putting them back where they were she decided to forget about it and move along. Nothing to see here.

Getting back to her business she reached behind her, holding onto the top ledge of the wardrobe, to grab her stack of books. She grumbled to herself as her fingertips just barely grazed the top of the stack. Damn. She could barely touch the very top book, she wasn't going to reach the entire stack unless her arm grew about six inches in the next six seconds.

Trying not to abandon all hope she slowly shifted her feet so she was standing to the side and could more easily see and reach the books. She gently bent her knees trying to maintain her balance as the stacked chairs wobbled underneath her. Reaching over a little farther she tried to get a grasp on the books. As her hand made contact with the top book, her fingers holding purchase to the wardrobe ledge slipped, and she felt the full force of her weight falling into the chest of drawers.

As the chairs collapsed and the room tilted out from underneath her she made a small squeaking yelp before the chest crashed over and she followed after. She heard something shatter and felt a sharp pain before her head hit the ground and everything went black.

Down in the shop, the head of the men milling about jerked upward as they heard a crash followed by a thud that actually did shake the walls. Arthur, his irritation growing at the continuation of her noise after his assistance, nearly shouted, "I'm gonna kill her if she does that one more time."

Shushing her nephew Polly stepped in to calm his nerves, "Don't worry. I'll go upstairs and see what she's doing and if she needs more help." Placing her cup of tea on his desk Polly marched up the stairs calling her nieces name, "Charlotte! Charlie? What in the bloody hell are you doing up here?" Reaching the end of the hall she turned into Charlotte's room and froze. "Holy Jesus..."

Charlotte lay in the middle of the room a puddle of blood beginning to form near her leg. She was unconscious and her shoulder looked to be at an odd angle. Polly turned, walking briskly back to the top of the stairs and trying to keep her voice calm as to not cause any chaos she called down, "John! I need you upstairs for a moment. Quickly."

She herself turned and ran back to Charlotte. She fell to the ground beside her niece, and picking up her head to place it in her lap Polly simultaneously checked the girl's breathing. Polly sighed in relief and tried tapping Charlotte's cheek hoping to wake her up.

Making his way up the stairs Polly heard John's voice, "Alright ladies, what is it this time?" Walking into the room he too froze, silent. Polly began to give him instructions while he stood in shock at the sight before him.

"Go fetch you wife, John. Go get Esme. She told me she had some nurses training while Ada was giving birth. Go get her. Look at me, John. Look at me. Walk downstairs calmly. And don't you dare run until the shop door is closed. Not a person down there needs to be panicked at this sight just yet, and we sure as hell don't need to go running off any bets. Now, go! John! Go get your wife!" Her firm voice snapped him back to reality, and nodding at her instructions he left.

Stoically John walked back down the stairs, through the shop, and to the door. In the back of his mind he knew Arthur was calling for him, but he kept moving. He ignored his oldest brother and just as Polly said to, he calmly shut the door before letting out a breath and running down the block shouting for Esme.

As Polly examined Charlotte's injuries she discovered a bleed at the back of her head, her shoulder was definitely dislocated, and the pooling blood was coming from a large shard of ceramic lodged into the girl's leg. Looking around the room she saw two chairs on their sides; one desk chair and one stuffed lounge chair. Charlotte's chest of drawers had fallen face down, the pitcher and basin that had once sat atop it shattered in pieces on the ground next to the glass that had once belonged to the frame holding their family portrait. Looking down at her nieces face nestled in her lap she muttered, "Bloody hell. What were you up to?"

Back downstairs the door to the betting shop flew open and John ran in, breathing heavily and holding Esme's hand. Polly had told him to keep calm, but to hell with that. John rushed Esme up the stairs and into the same room he had just exited not five minutes earlier. Upon arriving at the mess of books, glass, and blood Esme got to work examining Charlotte and talking to Polly. Standing and staring, waiting for instructions from Esme he startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"What in the fuck happened here?" Arthur shouted, fear audible in his voice. Polly raised her head to the men standing in the doorway. "Keep it down. This is family business and none of the men downstairs placing bets needs to know that something is amiss up here." Both brothers nodded, agreeing with their aunt's assessment. Finally concluding her assessment of their sister Esme turned and spoke to the brothers, "Which one of you can put a shoulder back into place?" Arthur, stepped forward, "That'd be me. I can do it."

As Arthur walked forward Charlotte began to cough, eyes fluttering open. There was a sigh of relief from the room and Charlotte looked around and muttered, "Fuck." She tried to sit up and Esme held her down, "No. No. Don't do that. Lay still."

Ever the stubborn one, Charlotte became indignant, "Wait for what? Just lemme up." Turning around, Esme called to John, "Come here and help. John you'll need to hold her while Arthur does the job." Still confused and trying to sit up Charlotte became concerned as the boys walked toward her, "Wait. Wait. Hold on just a minute. Just hold on a fucking minute."

Turning to Esme she questioned, "Why's he got to hold me? And what's Arthur about to do?" John and Arthur looked to one another and continued walking toward her without speaking. Getting up, Polly switched places with John and he hoisted Charlotte into a sitting position.

Heading for the door Polly announced, "I'm going to go get some rags and whisky, I think we'll need it." Calling after her, Esme added, "And bowls for water... And a sewing kit!" Settling in so that Charlotte's back rested against his chest John started to explain what was about to happen. "You just gotta hold still Lottie. Esme knows what she's doing and she says Arthur's gotta put that shoulder back into place. So just hold still and then we'll get that chunk of glass outta your leg."

Trying to put on a brave face Charlotte tried, unsuccessfully, not to panic. "Just hold on. Just lemme breathe a second, ok? You all need to wait." Leaning forward Arthur reached out to grab ahold of Charlotte's left shoulder and elbow. "It's gotta be done now, Charlie. The longer you wait, the worse it'll be. Just take a breath. It's not gonna hurt that bad. I bet that piece of pitcher sticking outta your leg there hurts a lot worse."

Staring back at Arthur Charlotte asked, "Do you even know what you're doing? I mean, how many times–"

Charlotte's line of questioning was cut short as Arthur tightened his grip, locked eyes with John, and jerked her shoulder up and into place. The room went silent for exactly three seconds as Charlotte opened her mouth to scream.

Air escaped her lungs, but no noise came.

Closing her eyes and finally inhaling she released a scream that nearly shattered the windows.

Wincing and trying to cover his ears Arthur said flatly, "Well, there goes Polly's plan to keep this family business."

Another three seconds passed and opening her eyes wide Charlotte found her words, "Fuck you, Arthur Shelby! You fucking liar. Fuck you! It's not gonna hurt?" Holding up his hands in defence Arthur backed away as Charlotte flung her leg up, trying to kick him. Unsuccessful, she tried again and continued to yell. "Get back over here. Lemme show you how much it's not gonna hurt, you son of a bitch."

Heading toward the door Arthur announced that his work here was done and he had to be somewhere to be. Yelling at his retreat, Charlotte continued, "Where you going, Arthur? Come back here, it's not gonna hurt, I promise." Trying not to laugh John kept hold on his sister, "Lottie, calm down! You got a whole pitcher stuck in your leg there and you're gonna bleed out if you don't stop thrashing around."

Kneeling down and pressing her hands on either side of the ceramic sticking out of Charlotte's leg, Esme came to his aid, "Charlie, you really need to stop moving, you're making it worse." Charlotte immediately stopped moving and looked down at her leg. It was as if she was seeing the damage there for the first time. The blood drained from her face and she leaned back into him once more, "Shit, that looks bad." Rolling his eyes John responded, "You're not wrong there."

Tommy had decided to move his work into his office after his aunt and both brothers had abandoned him to head upstairs. He tried to ignore John's leaving, then returning with Esme. He was busy. Whatever it was, Polly could handle it. Opening up his journal, he got to work. Minutes later he looked up as Polly made her way back down the stairs and into the family's house. He tried to catch her eye, but she pointedly refused to acknowledge him.

Closing the book he sighed, stood, and went to follow her. "Polly? What's wrong? You look stressed." Digging around in the pantry and pulling out some towels she replied, "It's fine, Thomas. Go back to your work. I've got this under control." Not quite convinced he pressed her further, "Are you sure Pol? What's Esme doing up there? And what the fuck are you looking for in there?" Responding without answering his questions Polly asked, "Where's the whisky?" Rolling his eyes Tommy decided that two could play this game.

"What's going on upstairs, Polly? Is there something wrong?" Polly continued to ignore him and walked into the kitchen. Grabbing her by the arm he forced her to stop what she was doing and look at him. "Fucking answer me. What is going–"

He was cut short by a raging scream that could've risen the dead. Polly's eyes went wide as Tommy locked his eyes on hers. Raising his eyebrows, he waited for an explanation.

"Right. Well, that was probably Arthur putting her shoulder back in place." His own eyes grew wide at her explanation. Before he could get a word out Polly was back to digging around under the kitchen sink. "We need a bottle of whiskey and a sewing kit. Wait, no. Make that two bottles. Here, take these, and grab those towels."

Handing him two bowls she pointed to the towels sitting on the table. Still paying him no mind she walked into the front room and returned with a sewing basket. Looking to him she asked, "Well, where's the whisky?" Nodding his head, Tommy moved in the direction of his office.

As he headed toward his office he heard Polly shouting, "What in the fuck do you all think you're looking at? Eh?" Looking up Tommy finally realised that all movement, conversation, and betting had stopped inside the shop. There were about 20 men standing still, all watching them intently.

Moving to him Polly took the dishes and rags out of his arms and started up the stairs, "Get everyone out of here Tommy. Close up shop, and we'll deal with business tomorrow. Grab that whisky and get your ass upstairs."

Turning to his audience he announced, "Alright lads, you heard the lady, finish your business and make your way home. The shop is closing." Walking into his off for the bottles of whisky, Scudboat followed in after him. "What's going on Tom? We all heard that scream a few minutes ago. Nobody's said a word since and they've all been standing there watching Polly."

Grabbing two bottles from his desk drawer he responded, "If you'd believe it, I have absolutely no idea what is going on up there. But it looks like Polly's on a path, and it's best to either get on board or get outta the way. I'm already on board, mate. You best be moving along." Scudboat laughed, "You want me to lock up?"

Nodding at him Tommy instructed, "Check all the doors in both houses, we don't need anybody robbing us blind." Grabbing his keys, Scudboat moved to follow orders and Tommy made his way up the stairs, passing Arthur on the way out. "Where you going?" Without looking back, Arthur responded, "I did me part up there, I got a meeting across town." Tommy knew it was their father. Arthur was meeting with that son of a bitch, and he knew the man would end up disappointing his brother. Putting it out of his mind Tommy continued his way upstairs. There were clearly more important things at hand.


	3. Chapter 3

A Mind to Tear a Soul in Two: Chapter Three

* * *

Walking into Charlotte's room, Tommy was unprepared for the sight in front of him. It looked like a bomb had gone off. Looking around there was furniture, glass, blood, and books strewn about. Taking in the mess, the people, and the cacophony of voices, it was all too much.

"...I swear to God if you come at me..."

"...Just hold still..."

"...I'll sit on you if you don't stop it..."

"...He's bringing the whisky..."

"...Get your fucking hands off of me..."

"...It's got to come out..."

"...Watch the shoulder..."

"...I will cram this rag down your throat..."

"...Calm down..."

"...Strangle you in your sleep..."

"Enough! Shut up, all of you! Shut up!" The room went quiet as the words left his mouth, all four faces in the room noticing him standing there for the first time. Each family member froze in place like a photograph.

Polly was standing near the window, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose, clearly trying to stave off a headache. Charlotte lay on the floor, John straddling her, arms pinned above her head. Esme had a towel in one hand, his sister's leg in the other, kneeling in a small pool of blood.

"Jesus fucking Christ. What is happening here?" As John, Polly, Esme, and Charlotte all started to speak at the same time, he raised his voice again to be heard over their squabbling, "Esme! Only Esme, answer my question." Charlotte took a breath and started to speak.

"Did I say 'Charlotte answer my question'? No. I said 'Esme'. Shut your mouth, Charlie. Esme, please, go on. Nobody will interrupt you." Waving his arm in a theatrical gesture he urged her to speak.

"Right. Well, obviously she fell and managed to knock over a few things–"

Attempting to interrupt Charlotte started, "But it was–"

Glaring down at her, Tommy cut her off, "I clearly remember telling you to shut it not ten seconds ago."

Glaring back at him she kept her mouth closed and allowed Esme to continue. "Now, as you probably heard, Arthur was able to put her shoulder back into place, so that's good and done. But there's this piece of glass here. I've got to remove it, but she won't stop moving so it keeps bleeding and the cut is getting worse. It's not too bad, it'll only need a few stitches. But it will need stitches. There's a cut on the top of her head, but it doesn't look too serious." Taking a breath she looked around the room, "And other than the mess, I think that's it."

Nodding at her assessment Tommy asked, "What do you need from us?" Taking a second Esme thought to herself before speaking, "I need a knife or scissors to cut this fabric away from her leg. I need some cocaine mixed with a bit of water, to create a paste to numb the cut for stitches. I need that whisky your holding. And honestly, this would all be easier if we weren't all on the floor." As an afterthought, she added, "And if Charlotte would sit still."

Nodding at her instructions, Tommy ordered, "John, why are you sitting on her like that? Get offa her, and help her sit up. She's not some pig that needs wrangling."

Scoffing John tried to explain the situation, "She won't sit still and let Esme work. Keeps trying to go after Arthur."

Pointing a finger at her to get the girl's attention, Tommy told her, "Charlie, stop thrashing around like a child. Besides, Arthur's long gone." Leaning down he handed a bottle of whisky to Charlotte, before passing the other to Esme, "Take this and start drinking."

Taking the bottle of whisky from him, Charlotte looked unsure. "You're gonna wanna start drinking that now."

Brining the bottle to her mouth and taking a drink, Charlotte winced as the burn hit her throat, "This stuff is shit." She complained looking up at him.

"The point is to get you drunk off you ass. Not to enjoy it. I'm not pulling out the good stuff to get my sister toasted. Now keep drinking." Looking to the other occupants in the room he continued on, "Polly, you got scissors in that sewing box there? John, help me get her up and on the bed. Esme, you wanna get that chunk out of her leg before or after we move her?"

Looking up at him from her position on the floor Esme replied, "I need to get it out before you move her. But you gotta be careful of her shoulder — we'll need a sling for that too. And I don't think you'll want her on the bed. Too much blood. The downstairs table would be better."

Grinning at his sister John said, "Looks like you're breaking free one way or another." Grimacing as she continued to take big gulps of the whisky Charlotte questioned, "Esme, is there any way to shut him up? His voice is giving me a headache."

Smiling at Charlotte, Esme pushed her husband out of the way and got back to business. "Can we do this now? When I take this out, I'll wrap this towel around it to stop the bleeding. Then one of you needs to pick her up and carry her down to the table."

Taking the scissors and cutting open Charlotte's trouser leg, Esme instructed Charlotte to lay down and hold still. "Alright, here we go." Pressing down in Charlotte's leg with one hand, she yanked the shard of ceramic out with her other. Then, almost too quickly for anyone to notice, Esme took the second bottle of whisky and poured it over Charlotte's leg.

Charlotte let out a coughing sob and her body spasmed upward, a silent scream leaving her mouth, unable to do much of anything else due to the combination of pain and liquor.

Reaching forward, Esme tied up the gash with a towel and gestured for Tommy to pick up his sister. "Sorry about that, Charlie. I had to make sure it was cleaned. But it's done now, so let's get you up and downstairs so we can finish this." Sitting up in a daze, Charlotte brought the bottle to her lips once more, chugging to numb the pain.

Kneeling by his sister, Tommy announced, "That is probably enough of that." And taking the bottle from her hand he realised that she'd managed to consume three fourths of the bottle, and she'd done so in about five minutes time. He had no doubt that by the time Esme started to stitch her up with a needle, she'd be three sheets to the wind.

Passing the bottle off to Polly, Tommy reached under and picked up his sister. One arm under her knees and the other at her back in a bridal style, he tried not to put too much pressure on the open wound. Holding his sister in his arms he instructed his brother, "John, check the smallest drawer at my desk. You'll see what Esme needs in there."

"What is it?" 

"Just look, you'll see what I'm talking about."

John nodded and left. Tommy followed, walking out of the room and toward the stairs, when he realised that Charlotte was shaking in his arms. "You ok there, Charlie?"

Pressing her face into his chest she shook her head.

"I don't wanna do this. It doesn't feel like I need stitches. I can tell. Don't make me do this."

Tommy tried to comfort her, "Don't worry, Charlie, you're not gonna feel a thing. That whisky you drank will make you numb through and through. Just give it another five minutes you'll be so gone you won't remember any of this in the morning."

Setting her on the table Charlotte looked up at him, "That's what Arthur said... He said not to worry that it wasn't gonna hurt. And then it did hurt. It hurt a lot."

"Do I lie to you Charlie? Have I ever lied to you?"

Staring at him blankly she replied, "You told me that the war would be over by Christmas."

It was like a sucker punch to the gut. She knocked the wind outta him with just her words. As Esme and Polly rushed around them in the kitchen, Tommy tried to find an explanation for his sister.

"I know I said that– It's just– I didn't– We thought–" Not knowing how to respond, he found himself rambling.

Taking a breath he pushed on, "I know I said that, Charlie. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I told you that."

Leaning in to her, he kissed the top of her head.

Rushing down the stairs John interrupted, holding out a vial of cocaine in his hand. "Here ya go, Tom."

Smacking his hand away Tommy demand, "Do I look like I need that? Give it to your wife."

Noticing the small blue vial in her brother's hands Charlotte asked, "Is that snow? Why'd you got snow, Tom?"

Trying to hold her alcohol riddled brain together Charlotte knew there was something about cocaine that she was suppose to tell Tommy. Or was it something she wasn't suppose to tell him about? Damn it. She couldn't remember. Thinking hard she barely heard Tommy's response, telling her to mind her own business.

Finally getting the numbing paste finished up, Esme instructed Charlotte, "You go ahead and lie down now Charlie. I just need you to lie flat ok? I'm going to put this paste on your leg and let it sit for a couple of minutes. You hear me?"

Closing her eyes and laying back on the table, Charlotte responded to her sister-in-law, "I hear ya. Lay still. I'm on it. I'm laying. And I'm very still."

She paused for a minute and then started up talking again, "Where'd you learn to be so smart, Esme? How'd you know doctoring? You got everyone, even Tommy, following your orders. That's how I know you're smart."

"Oh, here we go." John muttered under his breath, knowing that the whisky was starting to take over both Charlotte's brain and mouth.

Taking a breath, Charlotte didn't give Esme a chance to answer her questions before rattling on, "You know Ada, right? Our sister. You remember her? She couldn't sit still through one single nursing class before she got bored. Ran out with her friends to do... I don't know... Whatever it is she does when she's not in bed with Freddie."

John and Polly laughed as Tommy tried to get his sister to shut up, "Alright, I think that's probably enough talk about Freddie and Ada. Completely ignoring him as if he hadn't said a word, she went on, "Oh, boy, Ada's gonna be mad at you all... She's gonna be real mad."

Nearly bursting with joy, laughing at his sister's drunken ramblings John asked, "Why's that, Lottie? What's happening that she's got to be mad over?"

Smacking his head, yet wearing a grin across her face, Polly attempted to admonished him, "Don't you encourage her."

Explaining herself, Charlotte started in, "Well, first you cut up the new trousers she got me. Then you go handing me an entire bottle to drink. She's gonna feel left out. I know she will. Ada likes to be part of things. She misses us, I can tell. Can't you tell, Tom? She misses you. I know you're serious businessman, Mr. Tommy Shelby. But I can tell you miss her too. You probably miss her more than–"

Once again interrupting her ramblings, Tommy started in, "Alright Charlie. I think that's enough. Why don't you just relax. Huh?"

Stubborn indigence filled her voice, "Yeah, alright. But I want a story. Like before the war. Tell me a story, Tommy. Tell me one I haven't heard before."

Joining in with a sing song tone John added, "Oh yes, Tommy! Tell us a story!"

Completely unaware of John's joke Charlotte continued, "Tell me a story about Mom. It'll be ok, because I won't remember. So you can't be sad."

Laughing John added, "It's hard to argue with that logic. Just give us a bloody story, Tom. Don't deny the poor girl her last wish. Look at her, lying there, dying, half naked–"

"I'm not naked, stupid! It's only me leg. You've seen a leg before, haven't you?"

Indignant at her name calling, John asked his sister, "Who you calling stupid?"

As Tommy threw a bloody towel across the room to shut his brother up, Esme's voice rang out, "Alright, I think the wound is sufficiently numb. Why don't you boys clear out. We don't need an audience for this."

Reaching over and clinging to Tommy, Charlotte started to panic, "No, no, no, no. I need you to stay, everyone else can go. I need a story."

Relieved for an excuse to avoid telling a story to his sister with an audience, Tommy tried to calm her, "You heard the nurse, Charlie. John and I are just going into the shop to get some work done. You'll be fine here. You got Aunt Pol to take care of ya."

Still clutching his arm she tried to whisper to him, "But Pol is fucking awful at stories." As her "whisper" reached the ears of everyone in the kitchen Polly snorted.

Laughing as she waved for him to sit, she went into the shop with John. Closing one of the doors she told them, "She's not wrong. I'm shit for stories. You stay with her, Thomas."

Watching their aunt walk away, Esme got down to business. Sterilising the needle and thread Esme eyed him before speaking to Charlotte, "Alright, Charlie, I'm gonna start now. Just try to lie there. Alright?"

Nodding at her orders, Charlotte turned her head away from Esme and the sewing needle.

As the needle entered her flesh Charlotte gasped, her eyes went wide, and tears brimmed their edges.

Giving in to his sisters demands, Tommy asked, "Has anyone ever told you about the time Arthur stole a pie to give to the new school teacher?"

Without waiting for her response he continued on to tell the tale of the oldest Shelby brother's attempts to woo the pretty young school teacher. "Obviously Arthur didn't have the brains to impress her with his intelligence, so he decided to knock her stockings off with a homemade pie. Only problem was, Mom had made the pie to take to the minister's house that Sunday. With the beating she gave him once he confessed, you woulda thought that Arthur had damned all our souls to hell — all over one little pie. Worst part was, that teacher didn't even last the year. At some point she found out she was up the duff, and left Birmingham to live with her family in the country."

"Poor Arthur."

"Poor Arthur, my ass. Don't ever feel sorry for that man. He deserves everything that ever came to him."

At this, Esme cleared her throat and announced, "Alright you two, my work here is done." Snipping off the thread used for stitching she told them, "I'll come by later this evening with bandages and salve. You'll need to keep that covered for about a week. I'll check in every now and then to make sure it's healing good. Don't go climbing or running around, it'll rip the stitches, and we'll have to do this all over again."

Thanking his sister-in-law for everything, Tommy readied to scoop up Charlotte to take her back upstairs. "You ready to go back to your room, jailbird?"

Barely able to open her eyes she nodded at him. Pale and sweaty, she was clearly strung out on blood loss, pain, and alcohol. This girl was ready to sleep it all off.

Carrying her back up the stairs and settling her into bed Tommy gave her strict instructions to stay put. No more cleaning, and if she needed anything, just to give a shout. He tried to keep his orders simple enough that she'd remember once the alcohol wore off.

Agreeing to his commands she rolled over and mumbled something into her pillow.

"What's that? You talking to me or the pillow?"

Turning her head she drew out her words as if she were speaking to a child, "I said, Do. You. Wanna. Hear. Something?"

"Sure, make it quick. What do you got to say?" Looking to the folding clock on her table he could see that the day was getting on, and he still had work to take care of.

Removing her face from where she'd planted it in her pillow, she sat up and looked around the floor. "You see a blue book around here? Not for reading. A writing book — like from school." Looking under the bed Tommy grabbed the book in question and handed it to her.

Flipping through the pages looking for something particular she told him, "I've wanted to share this for awhile. But now seems like a good time."

Curiously watching her he asked, "Oh yeah? Why's that?"

"Because you shared something with me. So I'll share something with you." Nodding as if to finalise her statement she continued, "But you gotta close your eyes. I can't do it with you watching. So just close your eyes, alright?"

"Sure, but what are you on about?"

Exasperated she demanded, "Just close them!"

Closing his eyes he tried to be patient as he heard pages rustling and she cleared her throat.

"Ok, now keep 'em closed. And remember it's better when there's instruments. But don't say anything."

Ever so quietly she started singing, her alto voice breathy but strong.

"Oh, the desert dreams of a river

That will run down to the sea

Like my heart longs for an ocean

To wash down over me."

"Oh, won't you take me from this valley

To that mountain high above?

Oh I will pray, pray, pray

Until I see your smiling face.

I will pray

To the one I love."

Opening his eyes as she sang, her voice gained strength and volume. Hey eyes were closed, the book laying open in her lap, words scribbled across it's pages. Smiling while she continued her song she seemed to be strumming the air as if she were playing a guitar.

Given that not a single person in the Shelby home had ever played, let alone owned a guitar, he thought it seemed unlikely that Charlotte had picked up the instrument somewhere along the way. Pushing his thoughts aside he sat back and continued to watch and listen.

"Oh, the outcast dreams of acceptance,

Just to find pure love's embrace

Like an orphan longs for his mother.

May you hold me in your grace."

"Won't you take me from this valley

To that mountain high above?

Oh I will pray, pray, pray

Until I see your smiling face.

I will pray

To the one I love."

"Won't you take me from this valley

To that mountain high above?

Oh I will pray, pray, pray

Until I see your smiling face.

I will pray

To the one I love."

As she finished the song she opened her eyes, startled to see him staring back at her. "You were suppose to keep your eyes closed."

Apologising he told her, "I'm sorry — I'm no good at following orders. But that was really nice Charlie, where'd you hear that?"

Shaking her head at him, she looked down, flipping through the pages of her school book. "I didn't hear it anywhere. It's mine. I made it. Well, Johnny helped me. But it's mostly mine."

Confused, Tommy asked, "You and John are singing music together?" John wasn't one for singing, he sure as hell couldn't picture the two siblings writing a song together.

Interrupting his thoughts Charlotte drawled, "Johnny. John. NEE. Johnny. Not John. Don't be daft. John Shelby couldn't hold a musical note if his life depended on it."

Still not quite understanding what his sister was telling him, Tommy tried to get more information out of her. "Johnny Dogs? You two are writing music together? When?"

Tossing her book to the ground she laid down, pulled up her quilt, and closed her eyes. "You'd be surprised at the things I do when you're not paying attention."

"I'm sure I would be. Would you care to elaborate?"

"No."

Trying to keep an even tone, he told her, "How about you try, or I'll go hunt down Dogs meself and cut the story outta him."

Still not opening her eyes she responded, "No. Sorry. Can't. Dogs says it's our secret. The whole thing is. You can't be part of it. You and Arthur and John, you always get into everything. This is mine. Only for me. And it's my secret."

"Charlotte..."

"Won't you leave me be now? You got me all drunk, stuck sewing needles in me, and now me head is fuzzy and sleepy."

Well, the drunk girl in front of him did have a point. With nearly an entire bottle of whisky pumping through her, the story she was telling him could easily be equally as true as is was a fabrication of her imagination.

"Alright, I'll leave you be. But you're gonna have to tell me the truth sometime."

Growling at him, he could practically hear her eyes rolling. "Jesus, you're demanding. You know Ada says you weren't like this before."

Stand up to take his leave Tommy told her, "You and I both know Ada says a lot of things, most of them rubbish."

Finally opening her eyes she glared up at him, "Sometimes I don't wanna be one of you. It's hard ya know? Being a Shelby. Ada had the right idea — don't be one of us anymore. She's lucky. And I'm stuck here with you lot."

Not willing to have any kind of argument with a drunk child, Tommy told her, "Maybe you're right. Maybe Ada is the lucky one. But unfortunately for you, you're stuck here with us until I say so. And I'll promise you this, you'll not be getting married any time soon, princess."

Leaving the room he could hear her question softly, "But, did you like it? My song..."

"Of course I did. It was beautiful, both the song and your voice. Now please, Charlie, go to sleep."

* * *

A/N: Charlotte's song can be found here: youtube. com \watch?v=btcGAAahSTs (Don't forget to delete the spaces)

I'd also like to apologise for the short length of this chapter. I hated to pull a 'Half-Blood Prince' on you all, but I was actually able to write out the meat of three entire chapters since the last post, and this was a nice button ending before continuing on in our adventures.


	4. Chapter 4

A Mind to Tear a Soul in Two: Chapter Four

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"Here you go, my girl. I believe you will find all your property is unharmed and in pristine condition." Laughing, Charlotte took her books from her Aunt.

Looking around the room Charlotte was thankful for all the help her aunt had provided in getting the place cleaned and organised. During the past week things in the Shelby house seemed to calm and go back to normal.

As Tommy continued to scheme, Arthur was still going on visits with their father, John only left his wife and bedroom when absolutely necessary, Ada still reused to see any members of their family, and Charlotte laid low letting her shoulder and leg heal.

Polly has been essential in helping make the room finally feel like it was hers. With both Polly and Esme's help Charlotte had not only managed to stay out of trouble, but to keep both her room and wound clean. Polly told her multiple times a day that it was a miracle she'd been able to keep herself outta trouble.

"Thanks Aunt Pol." Looking around the room Charlotte looked for a home for the formerly confiscated items on the shelves that all seemed to be overflowing.

"Don't even think about trying to get those on top of that wardrobe. I'll tan your hide if you try doing anything that stupid again." Lecturing her Polly gathered up dirty laundry off of the floor, throwing them in her basket near the door.

"Oh come on, Pol. I was a prefect angel this week - even Tommy said so."

"Yes, and I'm certain we have your injuries to thank for keeping you inside and not wandering around this city at all hours of the night."

"That's not the point." Grabbing a stool from the corner Charlotte stepped up and started moving her newly returned items onto the bookcase's upper shelves.

"Girl, get off of that thing this instant. You're going to hurt yourself."

"Aunt Pol. It's only two steps. I'm not even two feet off of the ground. And besides, It's been a week since I got hurt, and me leg feels fine — see, no wobbling. I'm perfectly balanced." Balancing on her injured leg Charlotte held her arms out as if on a tightrope. "Esme says she'll take out the stitches in two days, so there."

Sticking her tongue out at her Aunt, Polly marched over to her niece, grabbed her firmly by the arm and ordered, "And until those stitches are out, you'll not be climbing on anything. I don't care if it's two feet or twenty. Get down from there, and let me put those away." Placing the books where Charlotte directed Polly added, "You're going to get yourself killed out of sheer stubbornness one of these days."

"Yeah, yeah... Have you spoken to Tommy about the family meeting tonight? He hasn't told me a thing, and I'm not sure what I'm in for."

"Your brother doesn't like to tell anyone what he's up to these days. He only lets us know after he's already put his foot in it. And then the whole family up to our necks in his disasters."

Confused at the insinuation Charlotte asked, "What do you mean? What's he been up to?"

Shaking her head Polly refused to talk on the subject, "I'm of the opinion that you're too young for all of this. But that damn brother of yours seems to have other opinions on the matter. If you've got questions, that's something you'll need to ask Thomas about. You won't be getting your information from me."

"Ask Thomas about what?" His voice came out of nowhere starting Polly. Slapping Tommy on the chest she scolded, "You make your presence known before scaring the daylights outta us."

Lounging on her bed Charlotte watched the interaction, grinning and trying not to have a laugh at her Aunt's expense.

Trying to hide a grin himself Tommy asked again, "What are you ladies wanting to ask me about?"

At the same time Polly told him, "Nothing." Charlotte answered, "The family meeting."

Stepping into the room Tommy announced, "Well that's what I'm here to talk to you about. There are some things–"

Interrupting Polly started, "Thomas, are you sure about this? Why don't you and I have a conversation downstairs first?"

Frustrated with his Aunt's antics Tommy told her, "Polly, we've gone over this. She's my sister and I'm handling it."

Indignant with his tone Polly tried again, before being cut off, "Yes, well, that sister of yours–"

"That sister is sitting right here! And she has a name!"

Both heads turned to look at Charlotte as Polly threw her hands in the air, "If anything happens to her, Thomas, it'll be on your head." Without waiting for a reply Polly turned on her heel and left.

Watching her aunt's retreat Charlotte questioned her brother, "Why's she being like that?"

"Doesn't matter."

"But she's always–"

"I said, it doesn't matter."

Waving over his sister Tommy ordered, "Come here and sit down. We need to talk." Gesturing to one of the chairs in front of the fire, he took a seat in the other and waited for her to join him.

Placing herself in the chair across from him, Charlotte sat silent and anxious, waiting for him to speak.

"Before we have this meeting tonight, we need to go over a few things. Now, the boys and I, we want you involved. You've got a solid head on your shoulders, and I think that you'll be a bright worker. But you've gotta straighten up and stop acting out. We've gone legal now and I don't need you getting in scraps with the boys down by the cut or–."

Scoffing at him she informed him, "I know that only part of this enterprise is legal. Don't act like everything's on the books now so we're suddenly a respectable family. John and Arthur are out there busting open heads every day. Why am I the only one that has to straighten up?"

Glaring at her, Tommy moved forward to the edge of his seat, leaning into her personal space he explained, "This is how this conversation is going to go. I'm going to tell you what's happening, and you're not going to argue with me. In fact it would be best if you just sat there and kept your mouth closed. Do you understand?"

Trying not to show how much he was intimidating her, Charlotte argued, "That's not how conversations work, Tommy."

"I just asked you a question. Do you understand how this conversation is going to go? Say it, Charlotte."

Folding her arms over her chest, knowing there was no way she was going to win this one, she tried not to pout as she responded, "Yes, Tommy. I understand."

"Good. Now, let's continue. We've gone legal now — and that's the only part of this that you'll be involved in. But I need to make sure that you're prepared for what being part of the family business entails and what I'm going to need from you in return." Reaching into his pocket Tommy paused to light a cigarette, inhaling, and slowly letting his breath out.

"The things I'm about to share with you are very serious secrets. Some of which I haven't even shared with John and Arthur, yet. Do you understand what that means?"

Nodding at him, he shook his head and demanded again, "Say it."

"Jesus Christ, why do you always do that? I'm not a kid anymore, you know I heard you." She was starting to get sick and tired of this power trip he was always pulling with her. She understood why he did it when she was younger — as a kid she was always distracted, her attention fixated on at least four different things all at once. She would get bored, and let her mind wander, never really able to stay focused on just one thing. The whole family use to make her repeat their words back at them to make sure she'd fully heard what had just been spoken to her. But she wasn't some flighty little kid anymore. And he was the only one that still pulled this shit on her.

"Because I want to hear you fucking say the words. Don't make this difficult."

"Jesus. Yes. I understand." His intimidation tactics won again.

"Good. First thing, I've sent in the paperwork to create our own, official business. The Shelby Family Limited. John and Arthur don't know this yet, so you keep your mouth shut until I tell you. But this makes us legal, legitimate — and yes, Charlie — respectable. Now, at the moment, you're too young to be included as a partner, but upon turning twenty one, you'll be able to get your legal share as well."

Knowing she was suppose to keep her mouth shut, but not fully understanding what he was saying, she had to ask, "Legal share of what? I don't understand..."

Taking in another drag he leaned back in his chair and smiled at her, "Your legal share of the company. As of now, John, Arthur, and I will be equal partners. Should you choose to, upon your twenty first birthday, you will inherit a portion of this entire enterprise. This is a family business, and the option to take up your role will always be available to both you and Ada, if and when you choose to step up."

Entirely at a loss for words, she gaped at him. Trying to form some sort of response she just sat there, frozen in place.

"We're bringing in lots of money, Charlie. More money than we can quietly stash away at the moment. And the business is only going to continue to grow. If we play our cards right this family will be just fine."

Nodding to let him know she understood, he continued.

"The next thing you need to know about are the guns. I'm not going to go into how we acquired the guns, but suffice to say that we are currently in possession of an entire shipping crate's worth of the King's armoury. Rifles, machine guns, ammunition. The whole fucking lot of it. I'm keeping it buried in the grave marked for Danny Whizz-Bang."

Listening intently to what he was saying, Charlotte nodded along, silently urging him to continue.

"This leads me to Inspector Campbell. I made a deal with him to–"

Shocked Charlotte couldn't close her mouth before the words came tumbling out, "You made a deal with a copper?"

Giving her a warning look she immediately apologised, "Yes. Sorry. Mouth shut. Won't happen again."

"I find that unlikely." Taking another long drag of his cigarette he continued.

"I made a deal with Inspector Campbell for the guns. He and his men are leaving the whole lot of the peaky blinders alone until the business with Billy Kimber is concluded. When we've gained all the licenses for the racetracks I plan expanding to, at that time I will hand the guns over, and we will all go along our merry way."

Throwing the butt of his cigarette into the fire, he pulled out another before moving alone in the story.

"I was recently approached by two members of the IRA, who got wind of the guns, and wanted to make a deal for them. Obviously that wasn't going to happen, but after our meeting one of their men was murdered, they placed the blame on the blinders."

"Now, I need you to listen to me very closely. Last night those bastards tried to blackmail me into telling them the location. And once I gave it to them they planned to shoot me. I went to Campbell to inform him of their plan. He agreed to arrange for his men to come in and nab them before anything happened. But they lied. They didn't come. They left me for dead. It was only Grace who managed to surprise them. She shot one of 'em right dead. I couldn't believe it. But the point is, we killed them, and the IRA will know it soon enough."

Leaning forward once again he took her chin in his hand, forcing the importance of his next statement upon her.

"I'm telling you this to make you understand how dangerous things are right now. If and when I tell you to do something, I need you to just do it. No questions or arguing, just fucking do as I say. Our lives are in danger here. All of us — you, Ada, Polly, Esme and the kids — you need to take this seriously. And you need to follow orders." Letting go of her face he questioned, "Do you understand me?"

"Tommy, you're scaring me."

"Good. It's supposed to scare you. Now, do you understand?"

Nodding, she swallowed her fear, and trying to find her voice she croaked, "I understand."

"Alright. Now back to the business. If this goes in your favour, there are going to be rules. And I'm not saying that any of this is for certain, the family vote will decide that. But I want things to be clear before anything happens. Get that notebook of yours and write this down. I don't want there to be any confusion or forgetfulness."

Walking to the other side of the room, Charlotte retrieved a lined notebook, returning to Tommy with paper and pencil in hand.

Pointing with his cigarette, he instructed, "Write this down. School comes first. It's now a requirement in this country for you to be in school until your eighteen. So as the newly respectable Shelby family, you'll be the first one of us to complete secondary school. Once this fall break is over and you head back, we can negotiate your schedule, and maybe weekend courses will work. But you will be going. And you will be an exemplary pupil. Which leads me to my next rule, no more fighting. Not at school, not in the yard, not by the cut, not at the bar. No fucking fighting."

Trying to keep the irritation off of her face, Charlotte knew this one wasn't going to be easy. Besides — it wasn't always her fault that the fights started.

"You've got a problem with that?"

Clearly she needed to practice controlling her face.

"No– It's just that– Well– Sometimes–"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Charlie, spit it out."

Rushing the words out of her mouth before she could irritate him further she explained, "It's not always my fault. The fights, that is. Being a Shelby isn't always an advantage. Sometimes it's not me in particular, it's my last name that they want to fight. What I mean is, that there's a lot of boys out there that got something to prove."

"If you're having a problem you tell one of us."

"It's not that easy, let's say a kid just comes up outta the blue and hits me. I gotta hit back. I'm not just gonna hit him back either, I'm gonna beat the piss outta him until he can't walk or see straight. It's just that sometimes the fights come to me, I don't go to them."

Gazing at her, she could tell Tommy was trying to come up with a solution to this problem. "Ok fine. I'll tell you the same thing I told John, only throw a punch if it's absolutely necessary. If you can talk you're way outta it, I expect you to do so. And if there's an ongoing problem, you come to one of us."

As she nodded in agreement he pointed to the paper, "Lets keep going. No more sneaking out in the middle of the night. This one should be obvious, how many times have we discussed this issue this past year?"

Scoffing at him she pointed out, "I don't think beating me with a strap is considered a 'discussion' Tom."

It was now his turn to scoff at her, "A beating? Trust me, you have no idea what a real beating is. Consider yourself lucky."

Indignant, the words once again left her mouth before she could stop them, "Lucky?! Am I supposed to thank you for–"

Cutting her off he raised his voice and calmly asked, "You want one right now?"

Quickly dismounting from her high horse, she shook her head. As she sunk back into the chair, she mumbled "No" before he started speaking again.

"As I said, no more sneaking out. You think you can get that through your thick skull? No. More. Sneaking. Out. Write it down."

Furiously scrubbing away, Charlotte listened as Tommy continued his list.

"I don't want you getting drunk at the Commons. It's dangerous. Hell, I don't want you getting drunk anywhere. But if you're feeling the urge to go wild. Steal some more rum from the Garrison, where at least I know where you are, and can drag you home."

"You know, I don't go to the commons to get drunk. I go there for dancing. I don't even like getting drunk. It makes me all honest and shit. Plus I don't like bring all fuzzy."

Pointing his cigarette at her he announced, "And there's the last one — no lying. I mean it. No more lying. If I find out you've lied, I'll have Polly take that soap and scrub every little bit of horse shit outta that mouth of yours. I want it to end."

Dipping head head as she finished writing, she waited for him to say anything else. Finally looking up she watched him search his mind for anything he may have missed. Finishing up his cigarette he took his time, unfazed by her anxiety over his demands.

Finally throwing his cigarette into the fire he asked her, "Did you write it all down?"

"Yes, I got it." Closing the book she waited for him to continue with anything else he wanted to discuss.

Motioning with his fingers, Tommy demanded, "Hand it over, lemme see."

Passing it over, he flipped through the pages, assessing her work.

"Looks good to me. We've got the meeting in an hour. Make sure you're downstairs before four o'clock. I've got some other things to take care of tonight, so I'll need to get it done quick. You got any questions?"

Thinking for a moment, she eventually shook her head, "No."

"Alright. I'll be in my office if you think of anything."

And with that he was gone.

Sitting, trying to absorb everything he'd told her, Charlotte's mind was reeling. Deals with coppers, guns from the king, shooting men in bars... What the fuck had Tommy gotten them all into? She supposed that he hadn't necessarily gotten her into anything, just yet. If all of that scared her, she didn't have to be part of anything at all.

She could just leave her brothers to it. She could be like Ada — finish school, get a real job, meet a man, and start a family. She was only thirteen, she still had time to shape her life any way she wished to. But would she be happy with a life like Ada's? It did seem quite boring. So traditional. She'd probably have to start wearing dresses. That sounded terrible.

She'd give the family business a chance. If it didn't work out she was sure Tommy would understand. Taking in a deep breath she hoped she knew what she was getting herself into. Fuck that — she hoped her brother knew what he was getting her into.

An hour later she found herself sitting at the table surrounded by her family — and Curly. "Alright gentlemen and ladies..." Curly excitedly clapped his hands for the new girl at the table. "...We've got a motion on the table to allow our Charlotte Shelby's involvement into the legal business. If anyone has anything they'd like to say before we vote, now is the time."

Looking around the table Tommy waited, obviously expecting some statement from someone there. "Pol...?" Questioning their aunt, Charlotte realised that he was waiting for her outspoken voice of dissent.

"Everyone here knows my thoughts on the subject. There's no need to rehash it, seems everyone's mind is set anyway."

"Alright then. I guess we know what your vote is, Pol."

"Damn right you do."

Turning to the next person Tommy asked, "John?"

"Yes. Let her in."

Unable to keep himself in check Curly announced, "I vote yes, Charlie girl." Smiling fondly at him, she mouthed a 'thank you.'

After Curly's outburst everyone spoke up without being asked. Arthur, yes. Esme, yes. Uncle Charlie, yes. Tommy, yes. And finally her own, very first vote, yes.

"And that concludes the vote. Five yay's and one nay. Welcome to the business, Charlotte." At his announcement, Polly snatched her jacket up in a huff and stormed out of the house.

Trying to ignore their aunt's leave, Tommy continued on, "Charlotte, please stand up." Looking around in confusion as everyone else remained seated, Charlotte slowly rose to her feet, looking to Tommy for an explanation. "Now that it's official, I'd like to introduce everyone to our new Assistant Director of Bloodstock Acquisitions. A role that I'm sure the newest member will take great delight in fulfilling." As everyone around her clapped and congratulated her, Charlotte stood frozen in shock, openly staring at her brother.

Trying to come up with the words, she started and stopped multiple times before someone cut her off.

"What does that even– How do you– How do I– Do you mean– Can you explain– It's not that– It's just I–"

Jumping up to clap Tommy on the back John congratulated him, "Would you look at that — for the first time in her life she's at a loss for words. Well done, Tom. Well done."

At John's pronouncement Charlotte was snapped back to reality, "Alright. I'm going to need someone to explain this to me."

Clearing his throat Tommy told her, "Well, I'll have to explain more later, as I've got to be going, but you can expect to be spending plenty of time with Curly and the Horses." Grinning as he pointed a finger at her he reiterated, "So, no more sneaking out."

Launching herself at him she couldn't believe he'd done this for her. As she hugged him around his neck, Tommy picked her up, hugging her back and spinning in a circle. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Setting her on the ground, Tommy kissed her head. "Anything to keep you outta trouble."

From behind them she heard Arthur shout, "Let's drink to that!"

Pouring everyone a drink, John handed her a glass as Arthur told her, "One drink, that's it."

Pouting back at him she whined, "That's no fun..."

Rolling his eyes Arthur gave in, "Alright, two. Two drinks. And that's it."

Kissing him on the cheek, she downed her drink in one swig and held out her glass for a refill.

Laughing, John filled the glass once more, "Alright Lottie, why don't you make this one last a little bit longer?"

Shrugging on his jacket Tommy grabbed his cap and pointed around the group as he made his exit, "All of you, behave. And you..." Pointing directly at Charlotte, "...Two drinks." Shifting his gaze to both John and Arthur he told them, "Don't let her get drunk. She gets two drinks." Before anyone could respond he was out the door.

After her two drinks and an hour or so of jokes and conversation, the family started to disperse. Arthur was the first to leave, claiming a meeting — everyone knew he was once again going to see their father. Uncle Charlie and Curly departed not long after, saying that they had a few final things to take care of in the yard before settling in for the night. And John headed out to check up on the kids when Esme insisted on taking Charlotte upstairs to look at the cut on her leg.

Entering into her room Esme laughed and announced, "Alright my girl, drop 'em."

Laughing back Charlotte told her, "Alright, alright, hold your horses." Removing her shoes and trousers, Charlotte sat on her bed as Esme removed the bandage, examining the stitches.

"This is doing really well. I honestly think I'll be able to take them out in two days."

"Don't sound so surprised! I can take care of meself when I need to."

Laughing Esme told her, "I don't know... Your brother's have told me otherwise..."

"You can't listen to them — liars — the whole lot of 'em."

As she finished up placing fresh, clean bandages over the wound, Charlotte questioned Esme, "How are things going with you and John and all the kids?"

Smiling as she finished, throwing the dirty wrappings in the bin, Esme told her, "It's all going very well, actually. The kids are a handful, but I think it's because they're all going crazy being kept in the house all day. It didn't help, you not coming over for bedtime stories, you know."

"Yeah, John already got on me about that. You tell them I'll be back this week, I promise."

"I've got my cousins coming into town tonight or tomorrow, John and I are going to take the kids out to the wagons and let them run around. I think they'll like it out in the fields. It's not always good for kids being in the city all the time."

Getting her trousers back on, and belt tightened, Charlotte wished Esme all the luck in the world. "You're gonna need it wrangling those kids out in an open field. Those little terrors will have you at your wits-end."

Laughing in response Esme agreed, "I'm sure they will, but that's what the cousins are there to help with. It takes a village, you know."

"So I've heard. You should get back to them, I'm sure John is already in bed waiting for you." Grinning at her sister-in-law, Esme threw a dirty look in her direction before being the last one out the door.

Smiling to herself at the wonderful day she'd had, Charlotte picked up a book and settled into her chair, ready to get lost in the world of Jane Eyre.

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A/N: Thank you all for your wonderful reviews. I really appreciate every single one of them. Next chapter will be up soon, and it's going to be pretty intense. I'll post a trigger warning at the beginning, just in case.


	5. Chapter 5

Trigger Warning: Attempted rape. Please be advised.

* * *

A Mind to Tear a Soul in Two: Chapter Five

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Curled up in the chair in front of her fire, wrapped in a blanket, and lost in her book, Charlotte heard the sound of car engines echoing outside her window. Checking the clock at her bedside, she realised she must've been reading for over two hours — going on three. It was getting late and there was no reason for multiple vehicles to be down the lane at his hour. Looking out the curtains in her bedroom window Charlotte could see a dozen police patrol wagons pulling down Watery Lane.

Watching as dread filled her stomach, she saw the wagons come to a halt along the lane. The coppers started piling out of the vehicles, gathering between the homes numbered five and six. "Shit." Charlotte quickly realised she had seconds to make her escape before the coppers came flooding into the house.

Looking around Charlotte began to panic. Why were they here? Where was Tommy? At least when the coppers raided the place while the boys were at the fair, Polly was here with her. At this moment Polly was God-knows-where being angry with her and Tommy, and there wasn't a single fucking other person in the house or the betting shop.

Knowing she knew she couldn't stay in the house, she tried to make a plan. Grabbing her shoes, cap, and jacket, she snatched her gun and a book off of her bookcase before checking the barrel for bullets and making her way across the hall to Tommy's room.

As she entered his room she could hear the doors downstairs bursting open. Quickly shutting the door and opening up his back window, she stuffed her gun into the jacket pocket and tossed her clothes onto the kitchen roof below.

Straddling the window she reached over to Tommy's desk and grabbed his army issue switch knife laying there; Arthur always told her 'a girl could never been too armed'. Stuffing the knife into her back pocket she placed her copy of Black Beauty on the windowsill. It would prevent the window from closing and at the same time send Tommy a message that she'd managed to escape without being taken by the coppers.

Hearing more racket through the closed bedroom door from the men that had invaded her home, Charlotte threw her leg over the edge and jumped down onto the roof. Squatting in the shadows she quickly tied up her boots, threw on her jacket, and tucked her hair up and under her peaky cap.

Formulating a plan she decided that she'd head down the alley to see if anyone was home at John's and Uncle Charlie's place. If nobody was there, she'd head to the yard. At least there she could saddle a horse to make an escape if things were really bad. Trying Arthur's home was out of the question — she'd have to cross the lane and the path of twenty coppers to get to him. And Polly was up and past the Garrison, so that wasn't an option either.

Fumbling down from the kitchen roof, Charlotte hit the ground and backed herself against the wall waiting to see if anyone else was in the alley and at with her.

When she concluded that the only noise she heard was coming from inside the house, Charlotte continued down the alley keeping to the shadows. Reaching the sixth house down from her own she tried to open the back door. Locked.

Peeking in through the window Charlotte looked for any sign of John, Esme, or the kids. Nothing. Pressing her ear up to the glass of the window she could tell the house was silent. That was a sure sign that nobody was home. The kids woulda been running around bouncing off the walls in the excitement of the coppers. That cousin of Esme's must've shown up early. "Damn."

Two more doors down the lights at Uncle Charlie's place were out. Another dead end. Well, if Charlie wasn't home, he'd have to be at his yard. That had to be the next best place to try.

Slinking down the to the end of the alley Charlotte looked around before calming crossing over and ducking into another alley way. It would be best to take the backroads all the way to the yard tonight, don't want to risk being spotted by a copper.

It took her nearly forty minutes, instead of the usual twenty, to get from her house to the yard. The added time was draining, but as she squeezed through the locked chained gate she felt confidant that no one had spotted or followed her.

Feeling less nervous now that she was on safe ground, she lifted off her cap and let her waves fall free. Heading into the sables she switched on the light. She'd stop to see the horses before wandering around a bit more to find Curly or Uncle Charlie. After all, the horses would be her responsibility now — it would be damn near negligent to not stop for a visit. She felt giddy at the prospect of being the new 'assistant director of bla something bla bla horses' — whatever the nonsense title that he'd created officially meant, only Tommy knew. The title was truly nonsense. It didn't matter to her. All that mattered was that Tommy was actually giving her a job that allowed her to spend all the time she wanted with the beasts.

As the lights flickered on a few of the horses snorted and looked to see who had entered. Her favourite girl, Annabelle, shook her mane and stomped a hoof — practically admonishing her for not visiting sooner.

Laughing at the horse's antics she gave her muzzle a rub as she continued on to the tackle closet. Tossing her cap and jacket onto a pile of hay in the empty stall adjacent to the closet she tried to get a bit more comfortable. The stables were always a bit clammy. The combination of English rain and the body heat coming off of the horses made an uncomfortable atmosphere, especially if she got to working all bundled up in her jacket.

Maybe she'd give the horses some treats, and then take the brush to Annabelle before finding her uncle. It would only take a bit longer, and that way she'd be ready to saddle up if Charlotte needed to make a break for it. It was only responsible for her to pay some special attention to the horse before leaving her alone again. Smiling at herself, she knew could come up with any excuse to keep her in the stables longer than necessary.

Turning into the closet and pulling out a ladder, Charlotte climbed up and felt around on the top shelf for the sugar cubes she stashed there.

As her fingers brushed the sugar box she heard the door to the stables creak open and slam shut. Grabbing the box she made her way back down the ladder. "Curly? Uncle Charlie? It's just me. There looked to be some trouble down the lane by the Garrison so I headed this way to wait out the coppers. I think they were looking for Tommy. Do you know–"

As she reached the bottom of the ladder she turned and stopped mid sentence. The man standing in front of her was neither her uncle, nor Curly. It was a copper. Not someone she recognised. Maybe one of the men from Ireland that she'd been told Inspector Campbell had recruited. Shaking her head free from her thoughts she finally noticed the disgusting grin the man was wearing.

Taking a step forward toward her, the man's frame seemed to fill up the entire doorway. "Now what's a little Shelby sister doing out her all on her own, eh?"

Irish. He was definitely Irish.

"There's no brothers around to keep you safe. Who knows what trouble a girl like you could get into without any supervision. Why, a man might even be able to follow her all the way from her home to Charlie Strong's yard without a pretty little thing like you even noticing."

Finally finding her voice she tried to keep her tone steady as she told him, "I don't need by brothers around to keep me safe." Dropping her box of sugar she reached into her back pocket and flipped out the knife she'd grabbed from Tommy's desk.

"Oh, look at that. She's got a knife." He drawled, his tone was unimpressed. Eyeing her up and down, like some kind of tart, he continued on, "A pretty girl going around town wearing trousers, brandishing knives, that's something you don't see everyday. Now why would you wanna go hiding what a lovely little lady you are?"

As her heart raced and breathing remained shallow Charlotte decided to make a move. Holding the knife out in front of her she took a small step forward. "You listen to me you fucking cocksucker, I'm a Shelby. You do anything to hurt me, and when my family gets a hold of you, you'll wish you'd never been born. You don't know the meaning of pain. But you will. This is my uncle's yard. He's here somewhere. All I have to do is scream and he'll come running, along with a few blinders. And you won't want to be here when they arrive."

Smiling at her he lazily responded, "Is that so?" Nodding in reply she was unprepared when he lunged for her.

Grabbing her wrist, he bent it backwards until the knife dropped and landed in his own hand. Brining it up to hold it against her throat he laughed, "Well, I'll just have to make sure you don't make a sound."

Opening her mouth to scream, he slapped her across the face as he threatened her, "You make one little noise and I will cut your throat." Instructing her he demanded, "Nod if you understand me."

Closing both her mouth and her eyes she nodding in agreement. She could taste blood in her mouth. The fucker had hit her hard.

Spitting the blood and saliva that had gathered in her mouth onto the floor next to his feet, he seemed to become enraged at her action.

Grabbing her by the neck he slammed her body into the wall. Instinctively she put her arms up to brace for the impact. Her head hit first, propelled by the grip her had on her. Blinking as her vision scrambled, she felt a sharp pain in her wrist as she braced herself against the wall. Gasping, she cringed as he lowered his head to speak to her, his own face not even an inch away from hers.

"Now, That wasn't very ladylike. Why don't you apologise to me for that disgusting behaviour, eh?"

As incentive to apologise to him he tightened his grip on her neck, pulling her head back and slammed it into the wall once more. Choking against the blood and tears running down her face, she breathed out, "I'm– I'm sorry. Please– Just– I'm sorry."

Using his free hand he reached down to her hip and grabbing her with bruising strength he forcibly pulled her back into him. His other arm came up, wrapping around her torso holding her tight, and pressed the knife firmly against her neck. "Apology accepted, sweetheart. Now walk forward."

Stepping out of the closet and into the main area of the stables he directed her into the stall where she'd tossed her coat and cap.

Trying not to move her head with the knife pressed against her, she looked around for anything that would help her. Letting out a breath she didn't realise she was holding she knew she was an idiot. The man holding her her was nearly double her size in both height and weight. There was no way she'd win in a fight against him.

As he walked her into the empty stall he moved his grip from her hip to her arm. Spinning her back around to face him she almost lost her balance. As she teetered, he gripped her arm harder, keeping her firmly upright. While one hand held a bruising grip on her arm, the other still held the knife to her neck — putting just enough pressure to hurt, but not enough to draw blood. Backing her up until she was pressed flat against the wall he pushed his hips against her, using his weight to keep her in place, while let his free hand roam her body. Lowering his face so they were nose to nose he told her, "I've never had such a pretty young thing before. And these trousers... Well, I do love a good challenge."

Closing her eyes at the rancid smell of his breath she knew that if there was every a time to beg, it was now. Taking in a ragged breath and nearly gagging at the scent of him she whispered, "Please... We've got money. You can have whatever you want. Just– Please, don't. Just let me–"

Her words were cut off as he brought his fist back and into her ribcage. Crumpling against him and gasping for air he forcibly brought her upright, holding her by the neck. Bringing her hands up she tried to loosen his grip as he forced her head to one side, pressing her cheek to the wooden wall. Brining the knife up, he pressed it hard into her throat. Starting near her ear he sliced her skin diagonally down toward her clavicle. Trying not to make a noise she opened her mouth in a silent scream, still trying to fight his hand holding her face to the wall.

As she felt blood run down her neck and into the collar of her shirt she heard him hiss at her, "Did I tell you you could speak? I recall telling you not to made a fucking noise. And now look what you've made me do. That cut there, once that heals, you'll have a nice little reminder of our night together. Now, are you going to keep quiet, or do I need to give you another reminder of who's in charge here?" Letting go of her face, he took a small step backwards and backhanded her. Trying not to cry out, tears ran down her face as she shook her head at him.

"Good girl. Now just do as I say and maybe I'll let you live when I'm through with you." Pulling her forward he reached down and began unbuckling her belt. Putting the knife in his mouth he walked behind her, taking her hands and using the belt to tie them together. Throwing her down into the pile of hay, he moved to straddle her as he laughed, "Look at us, having a literal roll in the hay."

Taking a gasping breath she told herself that she could do this as she tried to retreat into her mind. Let him have his fun and she'd be alive when he was finished. The belt around her hands wasn't really that tight, it didn't hurt that much. And plenty of girls in Birmingham were attacked and went on to live another day. She just needed to block everything out. Pretend like this wasn't happening. In her mind she could be anywhere. She didn't have to be here. Alone. About to be raped.

Breathing in again she tried to go still and limp while she began to create a scene in her mind, blocking everything out, one item at a time.

She wasn't in the stables.

The hay did not exist.

There were no horses.

Her arms weren't pressed behind her back.

There wasn't a man on top of her.

He wasn't grabbing at the buttons on her trousers.

He wasn't telling her what a good fuck she'll be.

There was no stench of musty, sweaty, unwashed linen.

The smell of manure was gone.

She suddenly felt a stabbing pain on her leg. In the back of her mind she remembered her stitches. Esme was going to take them out in two days. And now this son of a bitch had just ripped them open as he tried to get her trousers off of her.

Gasping in pain she felt the blood pooling out of the reopened wound.

Shaking her head she tried to retreat again.

This wasn't happening.

There was no gash oozing blood.

There was no hay.

There no stabbing pressure poking into her spine.

He wasn't describing how he'd sneakily followed her all the way from Watery Lane.

The horses weren't neighing and restless.

He trousers weren't being tugged and stripped off of her.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Brining her mind back to the present she focused on the pain driving into her spine.

There was something there. Is was hard. And unforgiving.

Moving her hands ever so slightly she felt coarse wool. The bastard had thrown her onto her jacket.

Her gun.

Her gun was jabbing her in her back.

Opening her eyes and looking down, she could see that the idiot had managed in removing her trousers and was now working on his own. Fumbling with the buttons, knife still in one hand.

Trying not to show any signs of movement she reached her fingers out behind her back, wiggling her uninjured wrist, trying to slide it out of the makeshift restrains he'd created with her belt. Struggling to not cry out she winced as her good hand slipped free, causing her likely sprained wrist to rotate, sending shock waves up her arm. Focusing on the task at hand she concentrated on making as little movement as possible while she felt for the pocket that held the revolver.

It was there, just within reach of her fingers.

As her fingers felt the cold metal of the handle and hammer she knew she'd have to move quickly if she wanted to get out of this mess.

The Irishman on top of her had managed to lower his own trousers and was getting ready to fall back over her, knife in one hand, cock in the other.

Grasping the handle firmly she pulled the hammer back as she tore the revolver out from behind her. Brining her hand in front of her, she pulled the trigger before she even realised what she was doing.

Both victim and attacker froze in shock.

His eyes went wide as he looked from his stomach to the gun in her hands. She watched as his eyes went cold and he gripped the knife in his hand tighter.

Pulling back she shot again.

And again.

And again.

She continued shooting until all she heard was a clicking noise.

At some point she stopped her movement and looked up at her attacker, still straddling her. At some point he'd dropped the knife and one hand clutched his belly. His eyes seemed dead as he lunged toward her.

Finally opening her mouth to scream she reached her arm out and grabbed the discarded knife as he came at her. He landed, knocking the wind out of her lungs. Trying to gain another breath she thought he was about to suffocate her. Taking the knife in her hand she reached up and stabbed.

Pulling the knife out blood gushed over her face. Running into her mouth and blinding her she spit and stabbed again. Repeating her actions, she panicked, trying everything she could to not die. Suddenly, a strange thought reached her.

He wasn't moving. He was just laying on top of her.

She could breath.

He was heavy. And slimy.

And he still wasn't moving.

As comprehension dawned on her she found herself scrambling to move before she realised she'd even decided to do so.

He was too heavy to push off of her, so she reached out to grab hold of a slat of wood and pulled herself out from underneath him.

Sitting next to the man she she paused. Unable to think straight, she reached over his body for her belongings. They were hers, not his. And she'd be keeping them, thank you very much.

What a ridiculous thought.

He was dead, he'd been dead when he fell on top of her, he didn't want her things. Dead men don't need jackets and caps.

With her cap in one hand and her jacket flung over one shoulder her reached underneath his body for her gun.

Holding it in her hand, the burning sensation reached her palms and she dropped it in between herself and the copper. Standing there looking from her gun to the copper the smell of death reached her nostrils.

Stumbling to the side, she fell to her knees and retched. Again and again. She had no idea how long she'd knelt there heaving before the thoughts took over.

Dead.

She'd killed a man.

No.

Yes. Yes.

She'd killed a copper.

Scrambling away from the body and vomit she found herself sitting in the corner of the stall. Shivering she thought she must be cold. Standing, she put her jacket on. After slipping her blood covered arms into the wool jacket, she looked down noticing that her shirt had been ripped down the front and her trousers were sitting till under the dead man's body. Essentially she had nothing on but her knickers and boots. And every part of her body was covered in blood. Walking back to the bloody mess that was the pile of hay she fetched her belt and tied it around her waist.

There. That was better.

Again, what a ridiculous thought. This wasn't better. She would never be better again.

Shivering, she walked back to her corner and she slid to the ground. Reaching out she grabbed the knife with one hand and her cap with the other.

Sitting back she had no idea what to do next. She'd just killed a copper. A fucking copper. She knew her brothers would be able to take care of this, if they hadn't been arrested. Oh god, what if they'd been arrested? She had no idea what she'd do then. Her world was spinning.

Resting her head against the stable wall, she let her mind wander. For hours. And hours. Her mind went in every direction imaginable. She had no anchor keeping her in one place. She was fractured, both in mind and body. Drifting between sleep and consciousness she had no idea of how long she'd sat there when she heard a noise.

Eyes snapping open she looked up to see a figure standing near the open stall gate. They seemed to be shouting, but she couldn't make out anything in the rushing noise of her pulse filling her ears. Charlotte was trying to focus, but couldn't get her mind to obey. Her ears ringing and vision blurry she reached for the knife beside her. Holding it in front of herself she stood and screamed, "Get out! Get out!"

Surprised when the figure fled, she closed her eyes and tried to make an escape plan. That person was sure to return, likely with others. Wiping the blood and muck from her eyes, she succeed in causing a sharp pain to radiate through the right side of her face, at the pain she realised that she couldn't see through that eye. "Damn it." Squinting, trying to get her bearings, she only grew more frustrated when she could still only make out hazy outlines of the objects surrounding her. Growling to herself she decided to just run for it. She could navigate these stables with her eyes closed, she didn't need to see clearly in order to escape.

Taking small steps toward the open gate, she reached down and fumbled around for the gun that she'd dropped there. Cursing herself for using every bullet in the damn thing she decided that if she ran into any trouble, she'd confidently hold it in front of her, and anyone else would have no reason to believe it wasn't fully loaded.

Finally taking hold of the gun, she placed the knife in the jacket pocket and stood to take her leave. Walking slowly, taking extra care not to fall or knock anything over, she suddenly heard the door to the stables open and close, voices hovering above the rattling of the door. Her heart jumped into her throat and the pounding in her ears returned. Unable to hear anything but the pounding of her heart and her own ragged breath, she ran back to her corner. Tripping in her rush she scrambled to get as far away from the open gate as was possible.

Turning and getting her feet under herself once again, she straightened, grasped the gun tighter and held it up, straight at chest level.

This time she could make out that the figures standing in the gate were two men. One of them stepped forward, speaking to her. Ears still ringing, hearing only white noise and the beating of her heart, she couldn't make out his words, but she became defensive as he continued to step toward her.

Shaking the gun at them, she yelled, "Don't come near me! I know how to use this thing. You see that man there, I killed him. I killed him and I'll do the same to you."

The man paused and holding up his hands he took another step forward. Her body shaking she held the gun tighter as she yelled over him, "Don't you take one more fucking step. I swear to god I'll unload this thing. I'm a fucking Shelby and I'm not afraid to kill you! Back the fuck up."

The man finally stopped and took a step backwards. Hands still in the air, his voice continued speaking words at her. Taking a breath she felt an inch of relief knowing that she had some sort of control now. He'd just done what she told him to. See, she could do this. She was a fucking Shelby, Goddamnit. Focusing and taking her first deep breath she was finally able to let his words reach her ears.

"Listen to me Charlotte. Listen. Do you hear my voice? Put the gun down. It's alright."

She knew his voice, thinking hard she lowered the gun slightly as she tried to place it. As she lowered the gun the man moved and took a step in her direction.

Startled, she raised the gun back up. But this time she continued to listen.

"Come on Charlie girl. Listen to my voice. You know me. Look at me. Hear my voice and look at my face. You can do it, girl. Just look and listen."

Relief flooded over her. She did know him. She did. Feeling light headed in her relief, she let the gun fall to the ground. She didn't need to do this anymore. Her family was here. Uncle Charlie was here. She was safe.

Safe.

That was her last thought as her knees gave out and her vision went black.

Rushing forward, Charlie Strong reached his niece as she went limp. Falling to the ground with her he began to bark orders at Curly.

"Curly! Curly! Come here. Listen to me." Taking a breath he got his thoughts in order. "Go get Tommy. Go get Tommy and Polly. If you can't find them get John or Arthur."

Nodding his head Curly repeated his instructions back to him, "Get Tom and Aunt Pol. Yes. Got it. Got it, Charlie."

"That's right. Get Tommy and Polly. Tell them Charlotte is hurt. Tell them it's bad. Make sure they grab her some clothes — a dress, not trousers."

Interrupting Curly tried to correct him, "Not a dress, Charlie. She don't wear them."

Voice rising in anger Charlie yelled, "Look at me! Tell them to bring a dress. You're not gonna put trousers on an unconscious girl, Curly. You hear me?"

Nodding his head Curly mumbled an incoherent reply.

"Hand me one of those horse blankets there from the closet. Hand me two. And then run. Run to get Tommy and Polly, Curly. Tell them to bring the car. Go!"

Handing him the blankets Curly took off running.

Covering Charlotte with the blankets, Charlie leaned back and waited for Tommy to arrive.

On the other side of Small Heath, Tommy was straightening the furniture in his home when he heard the shouting echoing off the buildings in the lane.

Opening up the door he stepped outside to see Curly running toward him shouting his name.

"I'm here, Curly. Stop your wailing, won't ya?"

Continuing to run, Curly reached him, out of breath. "You gotta come, Tom. You gotta get Aunt Pol and the car, and you gotta come." Leaning forward and resting his hands on his knees Curly took big gulps of air.

"What's the emergency, man? It's only noon. What could've possibly gone wrong, all before lunch?"

Standing up straight, Curly continued on, desperation filling his voice, "Charlie says you gotta come Tom. It's Charlie girl, she's all banged up bad. You gotta get Polly and the car and you gotta come. It's bad. It's bad. You gotta hurry. Charlie says to hurry."

Stepping forward, Tommy grabbed the man by the collar, "What did you just say? Where's Charlotte? Isn't she at the yard, with the horses?"

Panic flowing through him, Tommy tried to think.

This morning when he woke up in Grace's bed he felt ashamed realising that he'd not spared a thought for his kid sister alone in the house while the coppers were tearing up Small Heath looking for him. Getting dressed and rushing home, he'd walked in to see both the house and shop destroyed. John had already arrived, tidying up with Esme.

Looking up at his entrance John asked, "Oi, Tom. Where you been? Lottie with you? She's not here." Shaking his head and dread settling on him, Tommy ran up the stairs and into her bedroom. Nothing. Not here. Turning and running across the way into his own room he noticed his window was propped open. Walking closer he saw that a copy of Black Beauty was keeping the window from closing all the way. Whether she didn't think to leave a note or didn't have time, he wasn't sure. But this was a sign from Charlotte that she'd gotten out before the coppers raided the place.

Taking the book he sat on the bed signing in relief. Black Beauty. She'd taken off to the yard to spend time with the horses. She was too clever for her own good.

Shrugging off his coat he went back downstairs to share the information with John, and to help clean up — after all, it was his fault that the mess existed in the first place.

Returning to the present Tommy looked into Curly's eyes as the man spoke, "Where's Aunt Pol? Charlie says we need Aunt Pol. We need a dress — not trousers. And Aunt Pol."

Stepping away Tommy answered the man, "I've got no clue where Polly is. She hasn't shown her face here yet. You're stuck with me Curly, let's go."

"No Tom. You gotta bring a dress. A dress, not trousers. Very important."

Nodding Tommy turned and ran through the house and up the stairs, opening the doors to Charlotte's wardrobe he looked for a dress. Flinging trousers and vests aside he dug around for a dress. His hand rested on something soft and silky and he grabbed it, his mind telling him that dresses were soft. Holding the item out in front of him it was a medium length dress without sleeves. "That'll do." Running over he grabbed his cap and jacket off of his bed and raced outside to see Curly standing there waiting for him.

"Let's go Curly. Car's this way." Leading the man to the car, Curly climbed in as Tommy cranked the thing to life. Jumping in, he took off. "Tell me what's happened, Curly. What's wrong with Charlotte?"

Shaking his head Curly replied, "Don't know, Tom. But there's lots of blood. Blood everywhere. And a gun. Charlie says it's bad." Trying to keep the story that Curly was telling him straight in his mind he questioned, "Hold on. Which Charlie did you speak to, Curly? We got two Charlie's. Uncle Charlie or our Charlie girl?"

Understanding his confusion Curly explained, "Charlie girl can't talk. She was hollering at me when I first found her. But then she went and passed out on us. That's when I came to get you."

Gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles were white, Tommy focused on getting to his uncle's yard as fast as possible.

Parking and jumping out of the vehicle Tommy yelled back to Curly, "Grab that dress, Curly." Running he made his way to the stables. Opening the door, he shouted, "Charlie!?"

"Over here, Tom." Following his uncle's voice Tommy strode down the walkway, horses snorting and throwing their heads on either side of him.

Reaching the opened stall Tommy saw his uncle on the ground holding his sister. Unfazed by the dead man laying at the entrance, Tommy only had eyes for Charlotte. "What the fuck happened here? I keep walking into rooms and seeing my sister covered in blood on the ground." Reaching forward he tried to wipe away the blood that covered her face. It looked like she'd bathed in the stuff. Her hair was matted back, red blood and yellow hay covered her normally blonde waves.

A voice from behind him said, "That's a copper, Tom."

Turning to look at the body Tommy spoke, "I think you're right there, Curly." Standing up and walking forward Tommy grabbed a shovel from the wall, stuck it under the man, and rolled him onto his back. To call what he was looking at here 'overkill' would be an understatement. Bullet holes riddled his abdomen and slash marks covered his neck and face. "Jesus fucking Christ." Looking closer he saw that the man's trousers were pulled down.

His stomach bottomed out. "No, no, no... No!" Turning to face his uncle and sister, the question was written across his face.

His uncle spoke up, "I don't know Tom. She's not naked. She's still got her skivvies on. And her jacket is belted around her. But her top is torn and it looks like those must be her trousers there."

Turning back to the body Tommy hauled off and kicked him. "Fuck!" Kicking him again, his yells echoed off the walls, frightening the horses. He continued kicking and yelling until he heard his uncle calling for him.

"Tom! Tommy! Enough! She's coming 'round. Tom! Get over here. Beating a dead man will do you no good."

Rushing over Tommy knelt in front of Charlotte. "You there Charlie girl? You awake?" Her eyes opened and she looked around, terrified. It seemed like she didn't even recognise him. "Talk to her, Tom. She didn't realise that it was Curly and I at first. She held her gun up and nearly shot at me."

Leaning forward Tommy continued to talk to his sister, "Charlie. It's me. It's Tommy. It's Tommy and Curly and Uncle Charlie. You're at the stables with the horses. Everything is going to be alright."

Scrambling backwards out of her uncle's lap and tossing off the blankets, Charlotte's eyes darted around the room. Breathing heavily and quickly Tommy knew she was starting to panic. Crawling forward to her Tommy tried to take her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him.

Pain struck his face and she began shouting. Her arms started flailing about, slapping and scratching anything she could reach. "Get offa me! Fuck off! Get off!" Her shouting dissolved into sobs as he got hold of her hands pinning them to her sides. He'd done this before with Danny. He could do this for his sister.

"Listen to me Charlotte. It's Tommy. It's Tommy and Uncle Charlie. You're alright. He's dead. The man is dead and you're alright. Do you hear? It's Tommy and you're alright." After a few minutes Tommy saw her eyes focus on his face and reality came crashing down like a ton of bricks. Launching herself at him she told him, "I killed him, Tom. I did it. He was a copper. And I killed him. I killed him. I killed him."

Looking over her shoulder to his uncle he heard him say, "Let's get her outta this stall and cleaned up. She doesn't need to keep looking over at that man." Nodding in reply, Tommy reached around to pick Charlotte up off the ground. Walking out of the stall he sat her on a bale of hay and gave her a once over.

She was covered from head to toe in muddy, congealed, blood. Her hair, her jacket, her boots — covered. He couldn't determine if it was all the man's or her own. He could see her right eye was swollen and bruised. There were a few cuts across her brow. Her left jaw was dark purple and twice it's normal size, and it looked like there was a cut... Jesus Christ, there was a long, intentional, gash across her neck. That fucking bastard tried to carve her up.

Leaning forward he spoke to Charlotte, "I'm gonna take a rag and try to get some of this dirt off your face, yeah?" Nodding at him her face remained blank. Staring forward, nearly unblinking, she was clearly lost in her mind. Grabbing a rag off the rack and dipping into a bucket of water Tommy started to wash her face. Taking special care in cleaning away the multiple cuts across her face, Tommy eventually brought the cloth down to her neck. As he began to wash there she hissed and pulled away from him. Emotionless she told him, "He cut me."

Setting the rag down he told her, "I can see that. I think we need to get you home and into a bath. Does that sound alright to you?" No response. She continued to stare forward. "Em, right. Can you stand up for me?" Without saying a word, still looking straight ahead, she stood.

Looking to his uncle he raised a questioning eyebrow. The older man shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, Tommy found no help there.

"Alright Charlotte. I'm going to take your jacket off. Then I'm going to have you turn around and we'll get these bloody clothes off of you." Still no response. Reaching out he unbuckled her belt then took hold of one jacket arm and slipped it off of her before doing the same to the other arm and letting it fall to the ground.

Taking her by her shoulders he turned her so she was facing away. Snapping to Curly, he beckoned him to come forward with the dress. "Thanks Curly. Now get outta here." Nodding the man turned and headed for the door. Throwing the dress on the stack of hay he heard his uncle scoff, "Jesus, Tom. I said get a dress." Turning to him Tommy let his anger show, "That's what I did. It's a dress isn't it?"

Replying, Charlie shook his head, "That's a chemise. That goes under the dress. That's the same as her walking around in her shorts."

"Since when did you learn so much about women's clothes, Uncle Charlie?" Tommy spat. "Doesn't matter, it's what I got. She'll wear my coat home in the car, and she'll be fine."

Throughout their bickering Charlotte didn't make a move. Still standing, slightly swaying, she waited for someone else to make a command.

"Alright Charlie girl, lift up your arms and I'm gonna pull this shirt offa you." Doing as he commanded she lifted her arms and waited. Pulling the bloody fabric off of his sister he threw it on the ground with her jacket. Lowering her arms and wrapping them around herself she began to shiver, standing in only her shorts and a camisole. "Once more, Charlie. Raise 'em once more." As she hesitated he explained, "This little top is drenched, it's gonna make you colder if we leave it on." Raising her arms once more she allowed him to remove the top. Looking at her naked back, arms still raised in the air, Tommy grew nauseas seeing hand shaped bruises along her arms and scratches along her back. There looked to be some yellow spots forming as well — she'd broken a rib. Throwing the top to the ground in disgust he grabbed the black chemise and pulled on over her arms, letting it fall into place over her small frame, the fabric stopping just at her knees.

Turning her around to face him once more he shrugged off his own jacket and placed it over her shoulders.

"Why don't you hand me another of those horse blankets, Uncle Charlie? And then we'll be on our way home." Nodding as the woollen blanket was passed to him he took his sister by the shoulders and urged her to move forward.

Slowly taking steps forward he turned his head over his shoulder, "The body..."

Knowing what his nephew was asking, Charlie responded, "Don't worry about it Tom. Curly and I got it taken care of. The clothes too. I'll be by later to check up on you two"

Stopping in her tracks Tommy heard Charlotte mumble something under her breath. "What's that, Charlotte?"

Looking at him, she said, "In the pocket. It's your knife. From the war."

Looking to his uncle once more Tommy told him, "There's an army issue switch knife somewhere around there. Says it's in a pocket. Don't throw it out."

Turning he pushed his sister forward through the stable door and out into the daylight. Once he got her in the car he wrapped the blanket around her and started up the engine. Still staring into oblivion Charlotte hadn't moved a muscle by the time the car pulled up to number five Watery Lane. Opening the door to the house he returned to the parked car, and helped his sister down and through the front door. Walking through the family's quarters and toward the stairs, he spoke to John before he or Esme could ask any questions.

"The car's out front, John. Take it and park it. And then you two go home. If you can find Polly, send her here, but otherwise, you keep your mouths shut. Not a word. Even to Arthur." Wide eyed and shocked, John nodded, grabbing Esme's hand and pulled her out the front door.

"Alright Charlie, up we go. Let's get up these stairs, yeah?" Walking on her own now, Charlotte put one foot in front of the other, slowly but surely walking up the stairs. Walking down the hallway and past her room Tommy directed her to sit on the chair in the washroom.

Filling up the tub with water Tommy watched his sister. Sitting in silence, she made no movement. Staring at nothing, she looked ahead, still barely blinking. He'd seen behaviour like this before, in the war. Shell-shocked. His sister was shell-shocked. She had been attacked while he was off fucking some barmaid. And now she was shell-shocked. Leaning against the wall they faced each other, both lost in their own minds.

As the tub filled Tommy reached over to turn the water pipe off. It wasn't warm water, but it would do. He doubted she'd feel the temperature anyway. Turning back to her he knelt to unlace her shoes. "Alright Charlie, I'm gonna get these shoes and socks off, and then I'm gonna need you to stand up for me. Can you do that?"

Nodding at him she watched as he took her shoes and socks off, both pairs drenched in blood. Tossing the items into the hallway he stood and motioned for her to do the same. As she stood, he took the blanket from around her, setting it on the chair. He then took his jacket from her shoulders and threw it into the hall with the bloodied shoes.

Taking her hand, he led her to stand in front of the tub. Turning back to him she finally spoke, "Where's Pol?" Her whispered voice broke his heart. "I'm not sure Charlie. But don't you worry. Just step into the water, clothes and all. I just wanna get this, em... dirt off of your skin and outta your hair." Not breaking eye contact she told him, "It's blood, Tom."

"Right. Well, in you go." Turning back to face the tub she gripped his hand to keep her balance as she stepped in. Reaching out, he tried to take her other hand to help keep her balanced. As she snatched it away from him he saw that her wrist was swollen and purple. Sighing, he took her elbow instead helping her in. Once both feet were firmly in the tub she turned to him, looking lost, unsure of what to do next.

"Just sit down and I'll get the dirt, em... blood out." Her right hand still holding his own, she lowered herself until she was sitting. The dried dirt and blood stuck to her skin, now floated off in clumps. Kneeling down he rolled up his shirt sleeves and grabbed the wash rag and bar of soap. Getting the cloth wet and soapy he went to work scrubbing his sister clean.

As the water turned dark and murky he realised that she'd need another washing to really clean off properly. Hopefully Polly will have shown her face before he's forced to bath her a second time. There were plenty of cuts and scratches all over her body that would need to be thoroughly washed to keep off an infection. However the cuts on her face and neck — those he could take care of now.

"Almost done now. Just lean your head back into the water, lemme get your hair clean." Running his fingers through her matted hair, globs of blood and chunks of hay came loose. Picking at her scalp like some sort of monkey, he worked to get all the bits and pieces out. Lifting out a loose piece of debris he held it up for examination, startling when he realised he was holding a piece of human skin. Throwing it on the ground he spent extra time getting every little piece of foreign object out of his sisters hair. Sitting her up he ran the bar of soap over her scalp trying to get the last pieces of hay out. Leaning her head back once more she allowed him to rinse the soap out with the filthy, bloody water. Ultimately ineffective for cleanliness, but it got the dried blood and human matter off of Charlotte, so for that he was thankful.

Finishing his job he stood speechless, and reached his hand down her hers. Taking his offered hand, she stood, water running off of her as bits of hay and human flesh clung to the dress.

As she stepped out of the tub he grabbed the blanket and unfolded it in front of her. Holding it above his head so he couldn't see he told her, "Why don't you take off the rest of those wet clothes and then wrap yourself in the blanket? I won't look, I promise."

He didn't hear a response from her, but he felt the sopping wet dress go flying above his head, hit the wall behind him and slop on the floor resting with her shoes and socks. "That's my girl. Here, now wrap this around you."

Taking the blanket in her arms she engulfed herself in the wool and looked to him for instruction. Moving her to sit on the chair, he reached for a clean cloth from the basket and ran it under the water in the sink. "I've got to get these cuts on your neck and face cleaned up first. I'll let you and Polly and Esme deal with everything else. But let's just get these ones here taken care of right away."

Nodding at him she closed her eyes and let him get to work. Cleaning the wounds first with clean water, he tried to keep his touch gentle enough to not hurt her further, but firm enough to get out any bits of dirt and hay that got stuck when the cuts dried up and clotted. Apologising any time he made her flinch he continued on cleaning as quickly as possible.

After about fifteen minutes he decided that every cut was as clean as he could possibly get them without hurting her further. Standing up he stepped out and walked the six feet to his room, grabbing the bottle of rum he kept on the side table, he returned to Charlotte.

Rounding the corner back into the washroom he was surprised to see Charlotte standing, eyes wide, panicked, and breathing quickly.

"Hey, hey, hey... What are you doing? We're almost done here, just sit back down." Guiding her back to the chair she managed to even out her breathing, but her eyes were still wide and panicked.

Looking to him she quietly croaked out, "Don't leave me again."

Agreeing and apologising he held out the bottle of rum, "Here, why don't you take a few drinks of this." Grabbing another clean cloth from the basket he explained, "Just like Esme did last week, I've got to disinfect these cuts. It's going to hurt, so take a few drinks of this, and let me know when you're ready." Holding on to the blanket with her good hand, she snuck the injured one out to the bottle. "You'll have to help me. I can't hold both the blanket and the bottle."

Surprised by her raspy voice, he brought the bottle to her lips as she used the sprained hand to tilt it upwards, taking small drinks of the liquor.

After five drinks she shook her head, indicating she was done. Slipping her hand back into her blanket she shuttered before telling him, "Alright. Get it over with."

Poring the rum over the cloth he started at her neck. Tensing, she hissed out her breath, then taking a gulp of air she held her breath before hissing and repeating the process. Dabbing and squeezing the rum into the long cut he finished quickly, moving into her swollen and bruised face.

As he finished examining her face, he placed the cloth in the sink and told her it was all over. Stopping him before he could stand, Charlotte pushed the blanket back from her leg. Showing him the reopened wound from her adventures in climbing last week. Nodding at the bottle, she directed him to disinfect one last cut.

Finally finished putting his sister through hell, Tommy stood and lead Charlotte out of the wash room. Stepping into her own room Tommy walked her to the bed and then moved to start up the fire. Turning back to his sister he saw that she had laid her head on the pillow and was watching him.

"You're getting the pillow all wet with your hair. I'll get you a towel. Stepping toward the door her voice stopped him. "No. Don't leave me."

Sighing he told her, "You'll get sick if you lay there with wet hair. Polly would never allow it."

Ever the stubborn one, Charlotte deadpanned, "Polly's not here, is she?"

Taking a step toward his sister Tommy continued, "I've got to step out so you can get dressed. It'll only be for a minute. You can get dressed and I'll put on some tea."

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"Come on Charlotte, you've got to say more than 'no', let me get us some tea."

"No."

Throwing his hands up in frustration he walked toward her bed. Looking to the lump of wool laying there, she refused to look at him.

"You've got to be cold and wet. Don't you want to get dressed?"

"No."

"Alright. No clothes or tea it is then."

As he gave in to her demands, he made one of his own. "Alright, if I'm staying then we're going to dry out your hair." Looking around, he spotted a throw blanket in the seat of the overstuffed chair. Getting up and grabbing it he instructed her further.

"Sit up." Struggling to sit while keeping the blanket wrapped around her she huffed as Tommy used both hands to straighten her.

Sitting behind her he used the blanket to ring out her hair. Taking the brush from her floor he worked to brush out the tangles and rid her of any remaining debris from the stables. After a few minutes he thought the job done and he told her as much.

"Can I lay back down now?"

Grabbing the wet pillow and replacing it with a dry one from the lounge near the fire, he gestured for her to lay down. Closing her eyes she fell into the dry pillow and tried to get comfortable. Walking to one of her overstuffed chairs, Tommy tried to give her some space while still giving in to her demands to keep her company. Grabbing a book from her shelf Tommy too tried to make himself comfortable. Watching her squirm around trying to get comfortable with her bruises and the enormous blanket acting as both comforter and clothing he asked her once more, "You sure you don't want any tea? I'll go down and you can get dressed. You'll be more comfortable with regular clothes on."

Starring him dead in the eye she paused for a moment before responding, "No."

* * *

A/N: Thank you again for your reviews, I appreciate them.


	6. Chapter 6

A Mind to Tear a Soul in Two: Chapter Six

* * *

Sitting by the fire, book in hand, Tommy tried to focus on the story in front of him. Instead, his mind continued to wander. Imagining all the possible scenarios that left his sister battered and bruised, covered in blood, sitting next to a dead — bullet riddled — copper.

His sister had told him almost nothing of what had happened to her, and it was driving him crazy. He'd run out of cigarettes an hour ago, and that was making him even crazier. His mind kept running in circles and it was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do to just sit there, waiting, doing nothing. Tommy Shelby was a man of action. He wasn't one to sit and watch while the people he loved and cared for were left injured and broken.

After his father had abandoned their family, Ada had been so devastated that she'd cried herself to sleep for a week before he'd decided to step in and take action. He'd only been seventeen at the time, but he couldn't sit by while his ten year old sister became consumed with grief over their mother's death and their father's disappearance. Initially Polly had tried to distract her with heaping responsibility upon the girl. She'd told Ada that she was now the 'woman of the house' and it was her job to take care of Charlotte. A baby needed a mother, and without their own, Ada would need to rise to the occasion. Tommy was sure it was a ploy to give Polly time to continue grieving the loss of her own children that had been taken from her only a few months before their mother had passed. But either way — it hadn't worked.

Ada tried her best to help take care of the toddler, but she was too easily distracted. Whether is was commotion in the betting shop, a school mate stopping by to gossip, or the reminder that their father had just up and left one morning, Ada couldn't keep her attention on Charlotte long enough to ensure she'd be able to keep the poor thing alive.

The attempt at the added responsibility wasn't working, in fact, it seemed to stress his sister out to the brink of exhaustion. She was torn between the life of a child and the need to please her family. It had gotten to the point that even John, the half wit that he was, had taken notice, so Tommy decided to take action.

One night he'd snuck into her room and hid a pretty little bracelet that someone had used to place a bet, under her pillow. She'd been so thrilled upon discovering the treasure that he'd gone so far as to convince her that gift fairies were a real thing, and for weeks he'd taken to hiding small trinkets around the house for her to find.

Some of the items were silly things he'd found here and there — a thimble for sewing or a new pencil. While others — a watch — he'd lifted out of the pockets of pub patrons. He'd kept the ruse going for about three months, delivering gifts every few days, when Polly had taken him aside to demand he stop the game. Apparently Ada had confided in their aunt about the gifts the fairies we're bringing her. She'd been so excited when things had started to show up, but the past few weeks she'd started stashing the items under the kitchen sink. She'd come up with a plan in hopes of catching a fairy so she could trade the gifts they had brought for her, in exchange for their father.

Tommy had sat Ada down to explain that the fairies had left a message for her. He'd told her that they — the fairies that is — felt she was doing much better now. Their gifts had helped to cheer her up, and now they felt they needed to be helpful to another little girl who needed her spirits lifted. In fact, they'd already found a new girl — all the way on the other side of London — that had just lost her own mother, and Ada should be comforted knowing that her friendly fairies were now helping someone else who desperately needed them.

Ada had no so politely told him that he was a shit liar, and she knew it had been him the whole time. "I'm not an idiot, Tommy. I just liked playing a game with you. It was nice while it lasted, but I guess it's back to real life now." Not understanding why she'd told Polly about trading the gifts for their father, Tommy asked her to explain. Slightly embarrassed she'd told him, "I knew it was you hiding the gifts, I did — really. But a little part of me thought that just maybe it was real. If there was the smallest chance that I could get Da back, I had to try. I know it's stupid. But Arthur's been so sad — and Polly too. And Charlie needs him, she's so little. So I thought I'd try."

Leaning back into the chair, Tommy signed at the memory. Everything seemed so much easier then. John, barely a teenager, had taken to sneaking off with the neighbour girl — Martha Newberry. Charlie was only just two years old, learning her first curse words — and the consequences of using the new words in front of their aunt. Well, Arthur had learned the consequences of teaching her the words when Polly had smacked him upside the head with a wooden spoon. Even Tommy had found he'd fallen in love for the first time. Things had been hard when their dad left them, but they had managed. The hole that he'd left in their lives seemed to bring them together, only for the war to rip them all a part.

Looking up as the wind outside rattled the window, he waited to see if Charlotte would stir. It had been a few hours since her breathing had evened out, and he found that he'd fallen into a tedious mental routine. Going round and round in circles he'd try to read, only to eventually get distracted by Charlotte making a noise, at which point he'd hold his breath to see if she'd wake. Realising she wouldn't, he'd go on to imagine what had happened to put her in this state, which in turn made him nauseous. Hoping to distract himself he'd remember the book and then try to read. He'd flip through a few pages before the cycle started up again.

Once he was certain that Charlotte wouldn't wake, and the wind had died down, he turned his attention back to the book. Turning the page he had no recollection of what he was supposed to have just read, when he heard the door open and close downstairs. Hearing his uncle call his name, he slowly stood and silently made his way to the stairs. Leaning over the railing, he quietly called, "Upstairs. And keep it down. She's asleep."

Returning to stand in Charlotte's doorway, making sure she hadn't woken at the noise, Tommy waited for the older man to make his way up the stairs. It took a few minutes, but eventually his uncle appeared, a slice of buttered bread in one hand and the army issued knife in the other. "I believe this belongs to you." He announced, handing the object over. "Why'd you want it back? Doesn't seem like something either of you would want anymore."

Taking the knife, Tommy told his uncle, "I've only ever used this knife to open cans with. She's used it to open up a man's neck. It's part of her now, it belongs to her. She'll need to come to terms with that."

Astounded at his nephew's assessment of the weapon, he tried to get Tommy to reconsider, "Tommy, she's only a child. You can't treat her like a soldier — your mother never would've wanted that for her."

"She's not a child anymore. Whatever happened to her last night has changed that. Doesn't matter what you or I, or mom, wanted for her. It's out of our hands, and we'll all need to deal with it the best way we know how."

Looking inside at his sleeping niece, Charlie decided to change the subject, "How is she, then?"

"I honestly have no fucking idea. She won't speak, won't be left alone, won't dress, won't drink tea... I'm just as lost as she is."

Trying to comfort his nephew he clasped a hand on his shoulder, squeezing, "Looks like you got her cleaned up. Why's she still wrapped in that blanket?"

"Yeah, well, I was able to get her in the bath, but that's about it. Since taking her dress off and wrapping herself in that blanket she's refused to do as much as put clean clothes on." Clearly exasperated, Tommy was lost as to what to do with his sister.

"Wait, you mean she's got nothing on under there? That girl doesn't wear anything less than a three piece suit, and you've dressed her in a blanket?""

"It's not like I had much of a choice, did I? She won't let me leave her sight. I left the room for about twenty seconds and she nearly lost her mind. I'm telling you, Charlie — I've got no fucking idea what to do here."

Taking a step away from the situation, Charlie stood, thinking. The men in this family weren't prepared to handle any of this. "Where's Polly?"

"Last I saw her was when she stormed out after the vote yesterday. I told John to send her this way if she came around, but so far — nothing."

The smallest bit of a plan came to mind, and Charlie told Tommy what they'd do next, "Alright. Here's what we're going to do. You'll stay here with her, in case she wakes up — she won't want to see me. I'm going to grab John and head Polly's way. If we can't find her, we'll get Esme in here. I'm sure we'll need either Esme or the hospital one way or another, but it would be best to get your aunt here first."

Leaving Tommy with his sister, his uncle assured him, "When Polly is here, she'll know what to do. I'm sure of it."

Once his uncle had left, it took less than thirty minutes for Polly to come running up the stairs.

Stopping her before she could go barreling into the room Tommy tried to calm the frantic woman in front of him.

"Polly, stop. Wait. She's sleeping."

Looking over his shoulder as he stood still, effectively blockading the doorway, Polly's eyes searched for Charlotte.

"You step aside and let me see her, Thomas." Demanding, as ever.

"You can see her, but I don't want you–" Cutting him off, the rage that flowed from his aunt caught him off guard.

"You are not the gatekeeper between us, Thomas Shelby." As she hissed at him, Tommy was uncertain if he'd ever seen the woman behave this way. "That girl in that bed is the closest thing I have left to a child. You will not keep her from me." When her words had no effect on him, she went on. "I have been taking care of her since your mother died. Don't you dare try to fool yourself into thinking that you are the substitute parent here — you are not."

Taking a breath she pointed her finger in his face before continuing, "I have allowed you to take responsibility of her since returning from France. I allowed it. I saw the need for you to have something in your life that wasn't guns and gambling and war. She's hell on wheels, yes. But she's a light for your dark soul. Don't you ever, not for one second, think that leaving this house when you returned wasn't the hardest thing I've ever willingly done."

Taking another breath she seemed to compose herself this time, before demanding, "Now, step aside, and let me see my niece."

Eyeing her cautiously, Tommy slowly moved aside, legitimately fearful of her reaction should he try to argue with her. He'd forgotten how terrifying the woman could be when she set her mind to it.

Watching as Polly walked to the bed, Tommy held his breath, hoping with all his might that Charlotte didn't wake. She needed the sleep, and he needed time to talk with Polly to figure out what to do next.

To his relief, Charlotte hadn't moved a muscle by the time their aunt turned from the bed and marched back to him, demanding answers. "What happened?"

Motioning for her to sit in the chair across from the one he'd previously occupied, he tried to explain, "I don't exactly know everything."

"Well, what exactly do you know?"

Sighing, he searched his mind for the few details that he'd managed to gather. "Last night Campbell had his men raid Small Heath, looking for me. He got lucky and found the guns — they're almost all gone. Must've got wise to Danny being alive and put the two together. Anyway, they tore through the house and the shop, and from what I've gathered, Charlotte snuck out the back window while it was happening. She left a sort of note for me, making it clear she'd be at the stables. When I got home this morning–"

"Well where were you all night?" Shit. He didn't want to have to explain his dalliance to his aunt.

"Doesn't matter. When I got home, I got her message and didn't think anything of it until Curly came hollering down the lane this afternoon."

Continuing on, he told her how'd he'd found Charlotte in the stall, covered in blood and mud. How she'd confessed to killing the copper — but not what the copper had done to her. He showed her the knife and explained the overkill he'd seen on the body. How he'd gotten Charlotte home and cleaned, but then she had refused to dress herself or allow him to leave her sight.

"She's gone mental, Pol. Won't get dressed, won't be left alone, she won't even really talk. I don't know what to do here."

"Of course you don't know what to do with her, she's not a soldier. This isn't France." Leaning back into the chair she crossed her arms and watched the fire. "She's your sister. She's only just a child. She's not prepared for this."

"Pol, she's thirteen. She's grown up in Birmingham, she's well aware of the darkness that lives here."

"No, Thomas. She's not well aware. She's lived in the shadow of her brothers her whole life. To say this family is feared in this city would be an understatement. Even when you boys were in France she and Ada both lived under the protection of the Shelby name." Pointing across the Charlotte, sleeping in her bed, she reiterated, "That girl there had no fucking clue the harsh realities of this world until last night. And now that she's seen behind the curtain, there's no going back."

Still at a loss for a solution he begged her, "So what are we going to do?"

"WE aren't going to do anything. YOU are going to sit back and let ME handle this. For now, we're going to wait and see what she has to say. Then, as soon as possible, we start to move on. Things go back to normal. You go back to whatever business it was you were dealing with last night..." Giving him a knowing look she paused for just a moment to see if he'd confess before continuing, "...the boys will keep on with the gambling, she'll go back to school, and I'll be here keeping you all from drowning. That's the way of things."

Incredulous at the simplicity in the so called 'plan' she thought would work with their Charlotte, he asked, "That's your plan? Just move along. Stiff upper lip and all that?"

Standing she straightened her skirt and headed for the door, "Yes, Thomas. That's the plan. It'll work, just wait and see. Now. I'm going downstairs for some tea, call for me when she wakes."

Letting her leave, Tommy sat, unconvinced with her plan. He knew better than anyone the power behind his sister's stubborn mind. Polly wasn't going to be able to manipulate his sister into doing anything she wouldn't agree to. He'd let Polly handle this for now — Lord knows he didn't know what he was doing. He'd wait and see what she had up her sleeves.

* * *

Waiting down in the kitchen Polly was unsurprised to see Arthur slinking his way into the family home. In the hour or so that she'd been waiting for Charlotte to wake, she'd taken to tidying up the shop, going over the books, and checking the balance of the petty cash. Having gone over the books and the cash three times, she'd come to the conclusion that someone had done them in for about five hundred pounds. It hadn't taken her long to come to the conclusion that Arthur Sr. would have easily convinced his oldest son to pilfer a few hundred from the company stores, and with everything that's just happened, the man had no idea just how far up the creek he truly was.

"Where's your father?" No response. "I'm assuming he's busy frittering the five hundred you took from us and put in his thieving, whore-groping hands." Still no response. Frustrated, Polly raised her voice, "What were you thinking? How dare you do something like that without talking to Thomas or me?"

"Does Tommy know?" Finally the man speaks.

"No. But you're gonna tell him." He had the good sense to look ashamed. She felt that there was something more that Arthur wasn't telling her — something involving her good-for-nothing brother. But that had to wait for another time, there were more important things to deal with right now.

Folding the newspaper she'd been reading, she placed it on the table and instructed him to sit. When he refused her invitation she grew further irritated. Only six years separated them in age, but she'd be damned if he didn't heed her authority.

"Sit your ass down, now." Striving for intelligence, her eldest nephew sat.

Clearing her throat she searched for the words needed to explain the little she knew of what had taken place the previous night. "There's been a recent development — something you need to know. I want to explain everything before you get it in your head to go making a mess of things. And when I tell you, I need you to keep quiet — you're sister is sleeping — and if you wake her, I'll cut you. Do you hear me?"

"Christ, Pol. What are you on about?" Confusion was written across his face, and Polly braced herself for how the man would take the news. Letting out a breath, she pushed forward.

"Charlotte was attacked last night."

If she thought that the sentence would clear the confusion Arthur held, she was wrong. If anything, his brow grew more furrowed and his mouth became an ever increasing frown. He remained silent so she pressed on, trying to create simple, easily understandable sentences for him to digest.

"We don't know exactly what happened. She's not speaking much. Your uncle found her nearly naked this afternoon, hiding in an empty horse stall. Well, an almost empty horse stall — there was a dead copper with her. It's possible she was raped. But we don't know. We do know that those shooting lessons Tommy gave her were put to good use. She emptied her revolver into his gut."

Pausing to see what sort of impact Polly's words had on him, she found his face searching hers for more information.

"Now, she's beat up pretty bad. Her whole fucking face is swollen. Tommy mentioned possible broken ribs. But like I said, she's not talking, so we don't know exactly what happened." Arthur sat motionless, clearly trying to absorb her words. Reaching across the table, Polly took his hands in hers. "We don't know yet what all she'll need from us. She's got a head like a rock, that girl. Stubborn just like Thomas, so she might want to just forget and move on — as if nothing happened — we just don't know. But I do know she'll need us to be strong."

Squeezing his hands tighter, Arthur looked up, into her eyes. "Arthur, she'll need you. She'll need her brother to be here — not gallivanting around Birmingham, playing father and son with a man that abandoned us a decade ago. Are you hearing me? You need to be here with us."

Nodding at her in agreement, devastation was written across his face. After a minute or two he shook himself free of her grasp and stood. "I need to see her–"

"Not now, Arthur. She's sleeping. Leave her be. Tommy's with her now, when she wakes up we'll decide what to do then — together as a family."

Shaking his head at her, he allowed his anger and frustration to take over as he made his way through the green doors and up the stairs. Entering Charlotte's room, he discovered he was unprepared for the sight that greeted him at his entrance. He tried to absorb the scene fully, but found everything was coming to him in pieces.

Tommy sat by the fire, a book in his lap, dozing off. Charlotte laid in a lump on her bed. Her face was bloodied and features swollen, the cuts that littered her face looking mean and angry. Her hair was wet, and looked to be tinged slightly red. It definitely wasn't her usual shade of dirty blonde. He was so consumed with his observations at the scene in front of him, it took Tommy saying his name three times before recognition dawned.

Turning to face Tommy, Arthur questioned him, "What?"

Exhaustion lined his brother's face when he spoke a single word, "Don't."

"Don't what?"

Rubbing this hands over his face, Tommy paused before instructing him. "Whatever you're thinking, just don't. Don't touch her. Don't talk to her. Don't wake her. Just leave her be. Go downstairs with Polly and I'll let you know when she gets up."

Feeling indignant over his younger brother once again throwing orders and demands at him, he held no patience when informing him, "I have every right to be here with her — same as you."

Tommy's face flushed red and he fought to keep his voice down. "Really? Where were you today? Huh? Where were you when I was bringing her back from Charlie's yard? Where were you when I was bathing her? When I was cleaning her cuts?"

Speechless, Arthur stared at his younger brother.

Tommy's anger grew looking at the man in front of him. His exhaustion and frustration consumed him and he let loose. "You weren't here because you were out on the town with our father. You were chasing at his heels like a lost puppy instead of being here, with the family that matters. That man abandoned us, all of us. He left when we needed him the most. And he didn't just leave you and I, Arthur. Sure, we were grown men. We could've handled it. But he left Charlotte — she was just a baby. He left Ada and John — both old enough to know he'd left, but not old enough to know it wasn't their fault. Jesus, Arthur. That man is a waste of time." Sitting back into the chair he paused before delivering his final order, "Now fuck off until she wakes up."

Unable to confront the truth behind the words, Arthur stormed down the stairs and out of the house. Not giving Polly a second glance as she called for him, he slammed the door intent on making his way to the gym — he needed to hit something.

"Lord, watch over that one," Polly prayed watching the oldest Shelby sibling stalk his way down Watery Lane, "He's bound to find trouble tonight."

* * *

Waking in her bed to the setting sun beaming on to her face, Charlotte made no effort to rouse the blurry outline of her brother sleeping in the chair across the room.

Staring straight ahead she tried to figure out what it was she was supposed to do now. Before falling asleep Tommy had told her she should get dressed. But that involved moving, and that wasn't an appealing action at the moment. Internally examining herself from head to toe she made note of the right eye that continued to be swollen nearly shut. Mentally moving down her body she discovered there was a stinging burning pain along her neck. Her left wrist was tight and throbbing. And every time she took a deep breath she felt a sharp stab in her ribs.

Was that a lot of damage? Trying to remember injuries her brothers had sustained growing up, she drew a blank. Her mind was completely wiped. In the same way she knew her name and age, she too knew that her brothers had returned home with black eyes on occasion, but she couldn't think of a single specific example.

Strange. Usually she was quick in remembering facts and figures.

Frustrating.

Doesn't matter.

She'd been in fights. She'd come home with the occasional injury. She'd never sustained anything this bad. Usually she was the one delivering the more powerful blows. She didn't think she'd ever delivered any punishment this severe though. She'd broken a nose or two — or seven. But that was about it.

She was usually outstanding in a fight. Why hadn't she fought better last night? Did she even try? She'd just given up, she'd been some weak helpless girl. She was a fucking Shelby, goddamnit, and she'd cried and snivelled. She'd begged, and he'd nearly cut her throat for it. Maybe that was a deserving punishment for begging.

Disgusting.

If she could do it all over again she'd... No, best to not go down that path.

So what was she supposed to do now? How the fuck does a person move on from killing a man? Her brothers knew how. It's what changed them. War was all about killing. But she wasn't supposed to ask about the war. Would Polly allow for an exception now? After all, shouldn't committing murder bring a family together? Well, that was a ridiculous thought.

Would the inspector come looking for his man? His copper. Had anyone else known that he'd been following her? Who would notice that he hadn't reported for work this morning? He'd disappeared at the same time the whole police force was out looking for Tommy. What if they assumed Tommy had killed him?

Why weren't the coppers still looking for Tommy? Where had he been last night? If the coppers hadn't gotten him, he must've been hiding out somewhere. Maybe he made another deal. Maybe they weren't hunting him at all. Maybe she'd misunderstood, and all of this could've been avoided. She'd been so willing to believe that she needed to make a run for it. She'd so desperately wanted to fall back on her old escape routine, that maybe she hadn't thought it all the way through.

Wasn't that what John told her had been Tommy's biggest fear — that she'd go running into any dangerous scenario without thinking first? And here she was. Miserable, beat to a bloody pulp, a product of her own poor judgement and lack of forethought. She'd been so very stupid. She'd gone and snuck out, just like she'd promised Tommy she wouldn't. He'd made such a big deal out of it too — forcing her to write down his list of rules. If she'd just stayed home, that man would still be alive. Not lying dead in the middle of a barn filled with horses.

Shit. The body. Shit. What was going to happen with the body? The body of the man she'd murdered.

There is was again. That ridiculous word — murder.

Murderer.

Or was it murderess?

Doesn't matter.

Would she be arrested? Would they come banging down the doors to arrest her any minute now? Would Tommy let them take her? There's likely not much that he'd be able to do to stop them. There's only so many deals a man like Tommy can make. Getting his murdering sister out of prison wouldn't be one of them.

Would there be a trial? Probably not for someone like her. Working class people from Birmingham don't get trials. They get hanged. Murderers get hanged.

That was a strange thought. Wonder what it would be like to have a rope around her neck? John had once tied a rope around her wrist to keep her from wandering off at the market. She'd been six at the time, and fifteen year old John had gotten tired of chasing after her every time she wandered off. If she wasn't chasing after a schoolmate, she was disappearing to search for a vendor selling sweets. His solution was to tie her to him, like a puppy. To be honest, it wasn't his worst idea ever — she'd been right at his side helping to hold the groceries the whole time. But the rope had given her a burn, and Arthur had yelled at him. What would a rope burn on the neck feel like?

"What are you thinking about?"

His voice came out of nowhere, startling her. Focusing her eyes she saw Tommy, still lounging in the chair, examining her at a distance.

"Nothing." It was a lie. He'd know. She didn't even try to sound convincing. But it didn't matter if he knew she was lying, she wasn't going to be sharing any time soon.

"That's not true, I can see the wheels turning in your head. Talk to me, Charlie. Tell me what you're thinking."

That was laughable. Talk to him? About what? How she'd drained the life out of a man? Or how about the likelihood of her hanging for the crime? "No."

Irritated he snapped at her, "Are we back to this again?"

"No." He cocked an eyebrow at her and she changed her answer. "Yes." If he was asking stupid questions, she was going to give him stupid answers.

Clearly frustrated with her lack of communication, he stood and walked to the door. "I'm going to get Polly."

As he moved to make his exit she jolted, sitting up, still clutching the blanket wrapped around her. Wincing at her movement, she tried to stop him, "No!" Her excessive use of that particular two letter word had clearly sent him over the edge. But it had left her mouth before she knew what else to say. She wasn't exactly sure what she wanted from him at the moment, but she sure as fuck knew she didn't want to be left alone. "Don't go. Don't leave me alone." Look, more words. She'd used more words. Don't go. She needed him to stay.

Taking another step toward the door he told her, "It's alright. I'm not going anywhere. Polly's right downstairs. She's here, I just need to call for her." Another step toward the door. And another. He was leaving. Of course he was. He didn't want to be stuck here with his idiot of a sister. Why would he? She was disobedient, violent, and a liability to his legal enterprise. She wouldn't want to be stuck with herself if she had the choice.

As he disappeared out the door she thought her world might come crashing down around her. Closing her eyes she could feel her breath quicken. Stars began to twinkle behind her eyelids. The sound of rushing water filled her ears. Fuck. What was happening to her? She wasn't this fragile. She loved being alone. Get it together. Focus, damnit.

Then there was a hand on her face. Bundled up in her blanket she found she had trapped herself. She was tangled, unable to free her limbs to fight back. Struggling, she opened her eyes ready to face her attacker.

Still struggling with her blanket, it took her a second to recognise the person in front of her.

"Aunt Polly?"

There she was, smiling back at her. Well, almost smiling. Actually, it was more of a grimace than a smile. But it was still Polly. "Hi there, sweetheart. You're alright. It's just me. Me and Thomas."

Standing in the doorway Tommy watched them, his face blank. He hadn't left.

Trying to bring Charlotte's attention back to her, Polly spoke again. "Hey. Focus on me sweetheart, it's–"

"Don't call me that." Hearing the term of endearment Charlotte could smell musty linen and foul breath. It made her nauseous.

Nodding, Polly was clearly confused, but agreed, "Right. How about we get you up and dressed?"

"No." Why were these two so obsessed with getting her out of bed? She wished they'd just let her lay here in the blanket.

"No?" Polly questioned.

Before Charlotte could open her mouth to decline once again, Tommy made his presence known, "Don't start, Pol. 'No' seems to be the only word she knows today." Leaning on the door he smirked at her, as if to say, "Now Polly knows what you did and you can't do anything about it." He'd tattled on her, what a rat.

Turning back to face Charlotte, Polly asked, "Is that true, Charlotte?"

"No?" It wasn't true. She was unsure how to respond. Obviously she knew other words. She just had no use them at the moment.

Taking charge, Polly's voice turned assertive, "Right. Here's how this is going to go. I'm going to stay here with you now. Tommy is going to go get Esme so that she can take a look at you. While he's gone we'll get you cleaned up and dressed."

"No." That sounded like a lot of movement. Her body ached. She just wanted to lie down, with her brother watching over her. If he were here, she would be safe. Even if they came to arrest her, it would be better if Tommy were there to at least attempt to make a deal for her freedom.

But Polly wasn't having it, "Oh, my girl, you don't understand. This isn't a negotiation. This is me telling you what's going to be happening. This household has gone slack since I moved out, and you've gotten comfortable with your brothers wrapped around your finger. Well, that ends now. Thomas, go fetch your brother and his wife. I'll wait here and help Charlotte get dressed."

"No." Tommy's response shocked even Charlotte.

Throwing her hands in the air she rounded on him, "Not you too."

Motioning for her to join him at the door, he prompted, "Pol, can I talk to you privately for a moment?" Then as an afterthought to his sister, "We're not going anywhere, you'll be able to see me standing in the doorway."

Walking back across the room, Polly was at her wits end, "What is it, Thomas?"

"I don't think this is going to help. You ordering her around like this isn't going to make her better, she's only going to push back and shut down."

"You wanna know what's going to help that girl in there? Order. We need to get her moving. She needs us to be firm and strict. She needs to know that her foundation hasn't crumbled beneath her. She needs to be occupied. If you let her wallow, she'll never pull herself up. You know better than anyone, when the horse bucks you off, you gotta get right back on it."

Damnit. She was making sense. He hated it when she was right. "Fine. I'll let you do this your way for now. But if something goes wrong or she starts to lose it in any way, you're done."

"Agreed. Now go get Esme." Tommy knew she had only agreed to his terms in order to get him moving. After her speech that afternoon about Charlotte being like a child to her, he didn't truly believe she'd back down if he demanded it.

Deciding not to press the matter, he changed the subject, "There's one other thing — she needs another bath before getting dressed. A proper bath. The one I gave her earlier was just dirty bloody water. She's probably gonna need your help with that."

"I'll handle it." At his aunt's assurance, he turned and made his way down the stairs before he could change his mind. As he worked his way through the shop Tommy could hear Charlotte pleading and arguing with Polly.

"Stop. Polly, No. I can't. Please."

She was breaking his heart.

He had to get out of here before he stormed back up there, snatched Charlotte up in her blanket, and threw Polly out of the house. Opening the door, he stepped out into the street and took a deep breath. The air wasn't fresh by any means, but it did help to clear his head. Taking his time, he allowed himself a break from the family drama as he made his way down the lane to his brother's home.

* * *

Holding on as tightly as possible with an injured and swollen wrist, Charlotte found herself stuck in some kind of tug-of-war game with her aunt over the blanket she had wrapped around herself.

"Charlotte, you need to get off that bed and into the bath. Esme is coming to take a look at you, and you need to be dressed and cleaned when she gets here. Now, get up."

"No." Charlotte growled at her. "I don't want to."

Still holding tight to the blanket, Polly started in on her, "What you want, and what you're going to get are two very different things. If I have to strip you of this blanket, I will march you naked into that washroom — I couldn't care less who sees."

Pleading, Charlotte argued, "Polly, I can't. It's not going to make anything better, so what's the point?"

"Darling, I know this is hard. I know. I really do. But you need to move. You need to make progress. And the first step to progress is getting your skinny ass into that tub."

Looking into Polly's eyes Charlotte could see the same determination she often saw in Tommy's. Maybe Pol was right — she just needed to do one thing, and then all the other pieces would fall into place. Besides, there was no way Polly was about to give an inch in this argument. Charlotte lost this fight the second Tommy left the house.

Announcing her concession, Charlotte told her aunt, "Alright, fine. But I don't need any help. I'm not a child, I don't need supervision to bathe myself."

Pausing, Polly searched her eyes. Unsure of what she was hoping to find there, Charlotte grew uncomfortable and moved to stand. Sighing the older woman grabbed her desk chair, and moved to the exit. "Well, I'm going to be sitting in this chair, just outside if you need me. We'll keep the door open, yeah?"

She knew she didn't need help with the act of bathing. But she also knew she didn't want to be left alone. "Yes, right. That works. Thanks Aunt Pol."

"Of course, love. I'm just going to go put a pot on in the kitchen for some warm water, you just–"

"No." Charlotte tried to calm the instant panic those rose inside of her at the possibility of being left alone.

"I swear to Christ almighty, Charlotte. If you tell me 'no' one more time–"

"Sorry. That's not what I meant" Shaking her head she tried to quickly explain before her aunt could lose her mind, "I just mean that I don't need any hot water. I don't care about the temperature."

Giving her a suspicious look, Polly nodded. "Right. Well then, why don't you pull out some clean clothes to change into, while I run the water? I won't go anywhere. I'll just be in the washroom. You'll be able to hear me from here."

As Polly left for the washroom, Charlotte moved to her wardrobe. Trying to find something to wear that wouldn't put any pressure in her stomach or rib cage, she groaned at the realisation that a dress would be her only option. Not only were nearly every pair of trousers she owned dirty, but they'd all be too tight on her waist anyway. And she'd have to take them off for Esme to get a proper look at the ripped stitches on her leg. It didn't look like she was going to get her way with anything at the moment. Grabbing a dress off the hanger she shuffled into the washroom with Polly, "Can I please get this bath over with?"

* * *

As Tommy opened the door to John's home he could hear nothing but silence. Where were the kids? This damn place was never silent. The kids were always crying or screaming, making a racket one way or another.

Striding further into the home he called out, "John? Esme? Where the bloody hell is everyone?"

Coming to a stop as he entered the dining room, Tommy avoided his gaze as John and Esme climbed off the table, straightening their clothes. "Jesus, don't you feed your children on that table?"

Fastening the buttons on her dress, Esme quipped, "I'm not feeding them now, am I?"

She had a point. "Where are the children? You sell the lot of 'em?"

John opened his mouth to speak, but Esme was quicker, "Left them with my cousins overnight. They're out playing in the fields while were here cleaning up the shop." Pausing to sit, she made sure she'd caught his eye when she asked, "What happened to your sister, Thomas?"

Pulling out a chair, John motioned for Tommy to sit as he echoed his wife's question. "What was that with Lottie, Tom? Looked like she took a swim in a pool of blood."

Resting his head in his hands he wasn't sure what to tell them. Trying to keep it short he started, "She left the house last night during the raid. Were you two around for that?" Shaking their heads at him he explained, "Inspector Campbell ordered a raid. Sent the whole damn force out looking for me. He found the guns, had them all dug up, so he figured he'd get me in the bag while he was at it." Pausing to make sure that John was following, he continued at his nod. "When they searched the house Charlotte went out the back window, headed for the horses. At some point she was attacked by a copper. He's the one that beat the shit outta her. But she got him in the end — she unloaded that revolver you gave her right into his gut. Uncle Charlie's taking care of the body. But that's about all I know. She's not saying much on the subject."

Openly staring, John clearly wanted to ask the question, but couldn't find the right words, "Do you think she was– You know– She she say– Did he–"

Interrupting his stuttering Tommy told him, "Don't know. She's not talking about it." Looking to John's new wife, he continued, "Esme, do you think you can come take a look at her? I know you've been playing nurse ever since you joined this family, but I don't want to have to take her to hospital."

"Of course. After she sliced her leg open I put together a kit to have on hand. I figured it would become necessary they way you Shelby's are running around town. Let me grab it, and we can head out."

As Esme left the room to gather her supplies, John took the opportunity to question Tommy further, "Does Arthur know?"

"About Charlotte — yes. The guns — no. He was out with dear ol' dad last night, not sure if he even knows about the raid." Scoffing he added, "Although, it's not as if either of us was around last night either, eh?"

Not answering, but fully understanding the implications of his potential guilt in his sister's attack, John pushed away from the table, rising to fetch a cigarette. Passing one to his brother before lighting and sharing the flame, they both rested in the silence and smoke.

After a moment, Tommy interrupted their silence with the thought that had been floating in the back of his mind all day, "You know, if I'd let myself get arrested, none of this would've happened. But I ran. I ran with Grace and stayed with her instead of going home and checking on Charlotte." Flicking his ashes across the table he found himself growing angry, "All for what? A good fuck? I knew they were looking for me. I knew Charlie was home, alone. I just didn't put two and two together. I let it slip me mind. I let this happen. Fuck!" Slamming his hand on the table, Tommy looked to see John's response.

Instead of John's voice he startled when Esme spoke up, "This isn't about you, or your possible mistakes. This is about Charlotte. This is her tragedy, not yours. Don't be a selfish bastard–" Interrupting, John attempted to silence his wife. Holding up a hand to stop him, Tommy told his brother, "No, John. Let her continue. This is women's business, you and I know nothing on the matter."

Walking closer and placing her hands on the table, Esme continued, "You can't sit there blaming yourself for what happened, while at the same time attempting to support your sister in this. You'll only cause her more stress when she realises what's running through your mind. She'll blame herself for your misery. And trust me, she'll see straight through you. That girl has the eye."

Pleading with her for answers Tommy asked, "So what do I do? Polly says we need to move on — get back on the horse. But that seems wrong."

"She's not wrong. You wait. You listen. You'll figure it out. You and your sister — the two of you are very similar — that much is obvious at first sight. Maybe getting on with life is exactly what she needs, I don't know. But I'm sure you Shelby's will figure it out."

He wasn't sure if her words infuriated or comforted him. He was certain that this woman confused the holy hell outta him though.

He hadn't realised that he'd been glowering at the woman until he heard John's voice, "Alright you two. We should probably be going. Tommy, you look like you're about to murder my wife, and I've grown quite accustomed to having her around. Why don't you take a walk?" Sarcastically he added, "Esme and I can manage the treacherous hundred foot walk to the house."

Nodding, Tommy found he was only too happy to comply. Swiping another cigarette, he made his way out the door and into the Garrison.

* * *

Lying in her bed, Charlotte gazed up counting the cracks in the ceiling. She'd been counting for at least an hour in an attempt to get her mind to shut down so she could finally drift off to sleep. She'd been forced to start the count over going on a dozen times now, because she just couldn't keep herself focused. When she found her mind wandering back to the events of the past twenty-four hours, she'd start over. So far the highest number she'd reached was one hundred thirty-seven before she'd gotten distracted and forced herself to start over. She was mentally and physically exhausted, and she just wanted peace from the world happening around her.

Behind her, she could hear John mumbling to himself, scribbling away in his ledger while he sat at her desk. She couldn't tell if he thought she was asleep, or just chose to leave her be. Either way, she appreciated his presence. John was different from Arthur and Tommy, and she was just more comfortable around him. She couldn't quite place where the feeling had come from or when it had started. But she did know that unlike the other two, John was always willing to give her space when she demanded it and more than happy to stick around if she wanted a partner in crime.

After reaching seventy-five before getting distracted once again, she finally gave in to the will of her subconscious and let her mind wander over the events of the day. Quickly becoming absorbed in her recent past, she shivered and gooseflesh rose on her arms thinking about the bath she'd been forced to take earlier that afternoon.

Sitting in the tub, she tried not to let the frigid water temperature bother her. After all, she'd been the one to refuse Polly's offer to warm a pot on the stove, choosing rather to keep her aunt within her line of sight. She just needed to hurry cleaning off the mud and blood residue left over from the first bath of the day, and she'd be free to dress herself, and return to bed.

Equipped with a bar of soap and a cloth, she'd successfully turned the water a murky milky colour as she washed her arms and legs. Trying to keep her mind focused on cleaning one inch of her body at a time, she struggled to prevent herself from becoming consumed in the memory of the blood draining from the copper's neck, spilling over her body, nearly choking and blinding her.

Telling herself to stay focused and get the job done, It wasn't until she was cleaning the dirt out from underneath her fingernails that she'd realised she'd been successful. She'd cleaned her whole body by herself, having only traveled back in her memory twice. What a silly thing to be proud of.

By the time she'd dried herself and put her clothes on, Esme and John had made their way upstairs and were waiting for her. As she walked into her own room to find the pair sitting by the fire, she became instantly self conscious. Her face was swollen, bruises littered her arms, and she was only wearing a dress. Again, such a silly thing to be flustered over. Girls wore dresses, it was nothing to be embarrassed about, yet she felt almost naked standing in front of her brother without her trousers and button up shirt.

Standing in the entrance to her own room, feeling as uncomfortable as she'd ever been in her entire life, she was unsure how to proceed. Looking behind her for her aunt, Polly came to her rescue, handing out orders and making proclamations.

"John, go down and put the kettle on. After that cold bath, I think Charlotte could do with a nice hot cup of tea. Esme and I will let you know if your assistance is needed." Nodding to his aunt, John made his way downstairs, allowing the women the privacy needed for Esme to perform a complete examination of Charlotte's injuries.

When all was said and done, Charlotte was relieved to find that she wouldn't need any additional stitches, and her ribs were only bruised, not broken. Esme was concerned about the nasty cut on her neck, but had covered it with a bandage, informing them that if it wasn't getting better in a day or two, they'd need a real doctor to tend to it. Attempting a smile, Charlotte thanked Esme for everything and asked if she'd be allowed a glass or two of rum to help with the pain. Esme was clearly uncomfortable with the question, instead deferring to Polly to make the decision. Shaking her head Polly had attempted a compromise, "Let's get some food in you first. Then we can make a decision on the rum."

Wrapping a clean blanket around herself she settled back into the overstuffed chair by the fire, "Polly, I'm not hungry. I don't want to eat–"

Cutting off her protests, Polly clarified her statement, "I didn't say 'Charlie, would you like to eat something?' No. I said 'Let's get some food in you.' That was an order — I believe you're familiar with how that works in this family. There's a stew on the stove, and you'll be eating a bowl before we do anything else."

Grumbling every step of the way, Charlotte was lead down the stairs, where she was promptly plopped onto a chair as a bowl of stew and a cup of tea were placed in front of her. As her family sat around the table watching her every movement, she felt like a zoo animal. "If you expect me to eat this, I expect each of you to join me. I'm not eating alone." Conceding to her demands, Polly, John, and Esme rose from the table returning with a steaming bowl of stew each.

As they finished their meal in relative silence, Charlotte had asked about Tommy and Arthur. John was quick to explain, "Not sure where Arthur is, probably moping around Birmingham now that Da's gone. But Tommy needed a break. He took a walk, and probably headed toward–" He'd stopped talking when Esme leaned over and smacked him across the head, causing him to nearly choke on his meal. Looking to his wife for an explanation for the abuse he'd just endured, he was left looking a fool when Charlotte grew worried and questioned, "He said he needed a break? From me? Is he mad?"

Leaning over, Esme tucked a strand of hair behind Charlotte's ear and explained, "Oh no. It's not like that. Don't listen to this idiot. Tommy will be back soon. He didn't need a break from you. He just needed a chance to clear his head. That's all."

Staring at the half eaten bowl of stew in front of her, Charlotte wasn't quite convinced, but had one pressing question that she thought John would be able to answer reasonably well. "Do you think they're gonna come for me?" Taking a ragged breath and trying to keep the tears from her eyes she continued, "The coppers? You think that's why Tommy left? They're coming for me, and he won't be able to stop it."

The family around the table looked shocked at her question. It was almost as if the thought that she'd be arrested and taken away hadn't once occurred to them. Which was ridiculous — she had murdered a man. It was entirely possible she'd be hauled off for her crime, and there'd be nothing her brothers would be able to do about it.

After a moment John stood, and walking around the table he'd grasped the chair she was sitting in, pulling it out and spinning it away from the other women in the room. As Charlotte sat in the chair, back to the table facing the shop, John crouched down in front of her, his face even with her own.

Attempting to turn back around to question the other two on her brother's antics, she was startled when his hands reached out and grasped her face, keeping her from looking anywhere other than himself. She'd never seen her fun-loving brother look so serious, the fierceness in his gaze nearly frightened her. And when he started to speak his voice held a cold air that matched Tommy's in every way. "Look at me, and hear me. Are you listening?" Fearful to speak, she nodded at his question, his hands never leaving her face. "Good. Now understand this: Nothing is going to happen to you. Nobody is going to take you away from us. They'd have to get through each of us to reach you, and I promise that Tommy would never let that happen. I'd never let that happen. He's just out having a drink. He'll be back soon, and when he gets here he'll knock you upside the head when he hears that you thought he'd let them have you." Leaning forward he pressed his forehead to hers, "You're not going anywhere. Trust me, Lottie. You're stuck with us until the end of time. You're gonna start to hate it, but we'll still be here." Cracking a grin, his fierce facade disappeared, and he kissed her head as he spun her chair back around, once again facing Esme and Polly.

Examining the total amount of stew left in her bowl, Polly poured her a glass of whiskey, telling her that she could have a second when Tommy got home. "One will do for now. I'll not have that man yelling at me for getting you drunk." Protesting Charlotte took a shot at trying to convince her, "But Aunt Pol, I've never gotten drunk offa two drinks." Refusing to budge Polly had informed her, "You've normally eaten more than a few bites of stew when you've had two drinks. No. Until Tommy's back, that's it. One drink."

Not long after the group shared a drink, John had moved into the shop in an attempt to get some work done. Charlotte remained, sitting at the table with Polly and Esme as the two began discussing John's children and Esme's desired for a brood of her own. Soon the conversation grew too dull for Charlotte to feign interest, and she began to get lost in her memories of the past twenty-four hours. It hadn't taken long for Polly to notice the change in Charlotte's relaxed demeanour. Seeing the stress she was bringing upon herself, Polly had interrupted both her own conversation and Charlotte's thoughts to call to John in the other room, "John! Your sister's falling asleep at the table. Why don't you take her and your work upstairs and let her get some sleep?"

John in his small amount of wisdom, understood two things about Polly's request. One, it was not a request. And two, he was not to leave his sister alone.

Giving her sister-in-law a final once over, specifically looking into her still swollen eye, Esme had given her the all clear for the night. "Get some sleep. Everything looks better in the fresh light of morning." Understanding the double meaning in the woman's words, Charlotte kissed her cheek and wished her a good night.

Pulled out of the memory and back to the present, Charlotte laid in her bed when she heard a crash followed by raised voices. Sitting up, eyes wide she tried not to panic as John moved to the door, gun raised, prepared for a battle. After a moment of listening at the door, he laughed, put his gun back in his shoulder holster and returned to the desk. "It's just Arthur and Pol. She's gettin' on him for some stupid thing he's done now. Nothing new — go back to sleep, Lottie. Everything's fine."

Rolling over in response to John's assessment, she tried to count the lines in the wall paper. The wall was a far more interesting subject than the ceiling, but it still failed to provide a proper distraction to her wandering mind.

Once again hearing raised voices she strained her ears in an attempt to eavesdrop on the argument that was taking place in the kitchen. She thought she could hear Polly cursing, but she couldn't be sure.

"Son of a bitch." Raising her hand to strike him, Polly moved forward before coming into her right mind and just shouting across the table asked, "Are you as dimwitted as your father? You fool! How could you? How dare you!"

Refusing to be pulled into her anger, Arthur demanded, "Polly, just get out and leave me be."

"Leave you be? You clearly can't be trusted to be alone at the moment. Why in the fuck would I leave you be, eh?" Pacing in front of him, she didn't know where to start. So many questions flew through her mind. "Why?" It was the only question she could think of that encompassed the majority of her thoughts.

"Doesn't matter why. I failed. That's it. Move along." His voice was low and melancholy. She wasn't going to let him get out of this one.

"It does matter why, and you're going to tell me, or so help me God–"

Cutting her off, he allowed his anger to boil to the surface, "Enough! That's enough, Polly! Enough. You're too much. It's all too much. I can't do anything right. I can't even manage to succeed in killing meself. I've lost me place. Tommy's taken over it all. I couldn't manage this business. I couldn't see through Dad. I couldn't be there for Charlie. I'm a failure. I've failed this family."

"Excuse me?" The tone in her voice and the look on her face alerted Arthur that something he'd just said had been a mistake. What exactly it was, he clearly didn't know. But something in his words made Polly look as if she were going to strangle him.

"What I mean is–"

Interrupting, she could barely keep her anger controlled, "I think I know what you mean Arthur. You fell for your father's 'I'm a changed man' routine — even though everyone here warned you. You feel less of a man because your younger brother happens to have the ability to manage a business a bit better than you can. And you're at a loss because you couldn't save your sister from being attacked. Is that about right?"

"Well, I wouldn't–"

Interrupting him again, she clearly wasn't looking for an answer as she continued on. "You are a cowardly son of a bitch, Arthur Shelby."

Looking at her wide eyed, her anger emphasised his shame.

"How dare you act as if these things that are out of your control are worth throwing this family into a tailspin so that you could have an escape of reality. Here's the reality Arthur — you need to grow a pair and stop being so damn weak."

Pacing the room she threw her arms in the air, "So your father left, get over it. He left us all. He tricked you. He's tricked nearly everyone in this town at one point. You're not special there. But you wanna know what is special? This family. You are part of a family that has more strength than this whole damn island combined. And because of a little bit of embarrassment and frustration you're willing to throw it all away like a coward."

Pausing in her tirade she searched her pockets for a cigarette. Taking her silence as an opportunity to speak, he tried to defend himself against her claims. He, however, wasn't able to make a single sound when his aunt's head snapped up, her gaze daring him to form a sentence. Her murderous glare stopped him in his tracks and he shut his mouth before he could accidentally say something he would clearly regret.

Getting her cigarette lit, she took a deep drag before exhaling and continuing her lecture. "You will leave Charlotte out of all this." Waving her hand around in the air she motioned to his state of suicidal disarray. "What you did tonight has nothing to do with her. Don't you dare try to place any of your cowardice at the feet of that girl. What happened to her was a misfortune — what happened to you was intentional. She's dealing with her experience, she's coming to terms with what took place. She doesn't need to add your shit show to her conscious. She can never know that what happened to her had any part in what you did to yourself. Do not put that responsibility at her feet, she doesn't need it. She doesn't need to know that something she had no control over effected a decision you made, that you had complete control over. She needs her brother alive and well. She needs you to be a fucking adult. Do you understand me?"

Pausing for an answer, they were both distracted at the sound of the front door to the family's home opening and closing.

Taking a step in his direction she lowered her voice and asked him again, "Do you understand me, Arthur?"

Nodding, he was barely able to speak a contrite, "Yes." Before she'd turned her back to him and was walking through the doors to the front room, closing them behind her for privacy.

Not moving from his place at the table he leaned forward, staring into the fire. A few minutes later he heard the front door slam closed and Tommy walked into the dining room.

Walking forward Tommy reached out, pushing away the collar on his shirt before sighing and clasping a hand on his shoulder. Pausing for he taking off his jacked and taking a seat next to the fire, Arthur questioned, "Polly told you?"

Taking his time in responding, Tommy confirmed Arthur's assumption as he poured himself a cup of tea. Waiting in silence, anxiety rolled off Arthur in waves as Tommy's cool demeanour chilled the room. Sitting, waiting for an admonishment from his younger brother Arthur was surprised at Tommy's next words.

"You should have used a gun."

Arthur couldn't believe what he was hearing, "Are you laughing at me, Tommy?"

"Yeah." The cocky son of a bitch was laughing in his face. He sat there drinking his tea, and mocking him. Nodding his head, Tommy acted as if Arthur had done nothing so important as sneeze. He'd clearly lost all respect in this family. He couldn't believe it.

As Arthur sat, lost in his own mind, Tommy interrupted the berating monologue that he knew would be running through Arthur's head. "Just when things are starting to go right, Arthur. You try and do this." Leaning forward Tommy intentionally made sure to invade Arthur's personal space. Lecturing the man, he tried to keep it together. After all, he had good news to share with the idiot.

"Don't you like fancy parties?" Arthur didn't respond. Searching for other luxuries that awaited them he went on, "Or, em... Champagne or fast cars? Or how about this?"

Looking to him, Arthur kept his mouth shut as Tommy dug around in his pocket, pulling out a small piece of paper. Sticking it in front of his face, he he explained, "Your name on a business card."

Reading aloud Arthur spoke, "Shelby Family Limited." Reaching out, he took the card from his brother, a small smile forming on his face. "Arthur Shelby. Associate bookmaker." Scoffing at the news, he had a hard time believing this new development.

Explaining Tommy started, "I just had them picked up from the printers this morning. You are presently one of five shareholders. There are two shares set aside for Ada and Charlie. Ada's is available for her or her son, should she ever choose to be involved. Charlotte will inherit hers when she turns twenty-one. But for now, it's me, you, and John. And according to the law, we are equal partners and it's written on the paperwork in black and white." Holding up his fingers one at a time, he counted, "A third, a third, a third."

Arthur watched as Tommy spoke, incredulous at the information that he was being given. Sitting back in his chair, Tommy's entire body posture turned teasing, "But the thing is well, me and John quite fancy splitting your share so, just next time, use a gun, man."

As Arthur laughed at his younger brother's joking, Tommy felt a hint of relief as the mood lightened. "Our men at the station tell me that copper is leaving town. We're in the clear. We are on our way up in the world, brother."

Grasping each other in a brotherly embrace, Tommy tried to ensure his brother wouldn't do anything as stupid as this again, "Believe me."

Standing to place his cup in the sink Tommy hesitated in ending their moment, but he felt he had to deliver one piece of harsh news, for the sake of his family's well being. "But Arthur — you can't see Charlie looking like that, eh? She can't know." Pointing to his neck he instructed, "You've gotta let that heal first, or keep it covered. You know it would devastate her. I'm sorry, brother. But you can't see her."

Rising from his chair Arthur kept the mood light, "Yeah, Tom. I understand. Tell her I love her, and I'll be around in a day or so." Squeezing his shoulder once more, Arthur shrugged on his coat and left for his own residence.

Still straining her ears, Charlotte had given up on sleep, choosing instead to listen for any family gossip. Polly had stopped yelling, and the voices had grown quiet. She'd heard the front door open and close a few times now, so it's possible that Tommy had come home. But if he had, she thought he would've joined in Polly's yelling by now. Tommy loved a good shouting match.

Tilting her head back she looked to John, "What do ya think the yelling was about?"

Without looking at her, he shrugged, "Dunno. Arthur probably did something incredibly stupid."

Rolling her eyes at him she pressed him further, "Well that's obvious. But what do you think it was?"

"Well, if these numbers are right, somebody's taken about five hundred pounded outta last weeks winnings... So maybe that." Sighing, he pushed the book and pencil away from himself to look at her, clearly frustrated.

Sitting up, she looked shocked, "You think Arthur stole five hundred pounds? For what?"

"Not for what? For who." Giving her a knowing look, he went back to the books.

Shaking her head, she wondered if John was right. "Tommy's gonna be mad as hell."

"Mad as hell over what?" Tommy's blurry figure appeared in the doorway. The vision in her swollen eye was still a little off, but she'd recognise his glowering presence anywhere.

"Nothing."

Walking into the room he questioned her, "Right. Shouldn't you be asleep?"

Shaking her head, she informed him, "Not tired."

"Bullshit. You look exhausted."

Laughing at his bluntness she flung her words, "Eh? Fuck you, Tommy."

"Watch your language." Leaning over her, he reached out and jokingly tapped her mouth with the back of his hand.

Pushing his hand away she asked, "Or what? You gonna give me another black eye?"

"Maybe." Rolling his eyes at her, he tried to bring the conversation back to his original point, "Come on, kid. Lay down. You really gotta get to sleep."

Ignoring his polite order, she tried, "Can I have some whiskey?"

"What? No. Lay down." Shaking his head at her, he was surprised at the request.

"But Aunt Polly said–"

"I don't care what Aunt Polly said. I said, lay down." His voice lost its joking lilt, and he turned a bit more serious.

"Come on Tommy. It'll help me sleep. Please?"

Giving her a warning look he told her, "Charlie, you're pushing it..."

"Tommy, look at me. I look like hell and everything hurts. Lemme have a drink."

Sighing he turned and left the room without a word. Looking over to John she grinned mischievously, "Can't believe I won that one."

Laughing, he informed her, "You might be surprised what he'll let you get away with right now."

Returning to the room with three glasses and a bottle of rum in hand, Tommy passed around the cups informing them that the whiskey was gone, "Rum will have to do." Filling their glasses, Tommy was the first to raise his, "A toast to the Shelby Family Limited." Finishing his salute, Charlotte added, "May we never truly be limited."

Throwing back their rum, Charlotte decided to take heed of John's tip. "Another, please?" Holding out her glass she did her best to give Tommy puppy eyes. Either she was successful in looking adorable, or her face just looked that awful, because he filled her glass again watching her with an intense side-eye.

"What?" Grinning at him, she tried not to crack under his gaze. She worried the combination of exhaustion and alcohol would send her into an awkward fit of giggles, and any prestige she held at that point would be lost.

Shaking his head at her, he sipped on his second glass as he informed her, "Nothing. You just look better."

Scoffing at him, she had no filter when the words came out, "Tommy, it's only been a few hours. I look like shit." John burst out laughing at her as she swallowed her second glass. Deciding to push her luck, she held out her glass for a third, and was shocked when he actually poured her one. It was only half of what he'd given in the first two, but still, she was surprised.

"Take the compliment. You're looking better." Setting the bottle on her desk he motioned for her to finish her drink. Taking the glass from her when she'd finished, he pointed to the quilt. "Now, under the blankets." Rolling her eyes, she tried to argue, but he spoke first. "You've had three drinks–"

Interrupting, John tattled, "Four."

Turning to him Tommy questioned, "Eh?"

"Drinks. She's had four. Polly gave her one earlier."

Turning to raise an eyebrow at his sister for an explanation, she raised her hands in defence. "Polly said she'd tell you when you got home. I didn't lie. I thought you knew."

She had him there, "Fine. But it still doesn't change anything. Get under the blanket. You need to sleep."

"You don't gotta be so mean and bossy about it." Pushing herself off of the bed, she stood and felt herself go light headed as she wobbled to the side. Catching herself before she could fall, she laughed seeing John rise from his chair at the desk and Tommy dart forward to catch her arm.

"Calm down boys. I got it. I'm fine. Get offa me." Shaking her arm free from Tommy's hold, she attempted to take a step forward. Failing, she wobbled again, surprised at how quickly she'd become inebriated.

Trying not to laugh at the lightweight in front of him, Tommy took hold of her shoulders preventing her from going anywhere. "Where you going? I just told you to lay down and go to sleep."

Raising her arm and pointing across the room, she tried her best to keep from slurring her words as she informed the two, "I want that pillow too. I needs it." Attempting to take a step forward, her mind became consumed with retrieving the second pillow sitting on the chair on the other side of the room.

Tommy's grip tightened on her shoulders as he turned her around and pushed her forward to the bed. "I'll get it, you get in here." Raising the blankets he helped her climb under, before grabbing the pillow and bringing it back.

Taking it from him she attempted to acknowledge his actions, finding it more difficult than she thought it would be, "Sank– No. Sink– No. Sank you." Nodding her head, proud of her accomplishment she repeated herself, "Sank you."

Barking out a laugh, John informed his brother, "Christ, she's fun like this."

Closing her eyes she grew irritated at his words. She was always fun. He just didn't know. Wanting to tell him so, she kept it simple, "Shut up."

It was her turn to laugh when Tommy spoke at the same time, giving John the same order.

"That's it." John announced, and Charlotte heard him walk toward the door. "I'm leaving."

Raising her hand to bid him farewell, she heard Tommy take John's place at her desk. Knowing that he wouldn't leave her alone, she allowed the alcohol to drug her mind. As her thoughts slowed down, she nested into her bed getting comfortable. Trying her best to speak clearly she whispered to her brother, "Night, Tommy." before rolling onto her side and falling asleep before he could even respond.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews! You are all so kind.


	7. Chapter 7

A Mind to Tear a Soul in Two: Chapter Seven

* * *

In the week that had passed since her attack, Charlotte had been having a difficult time keeping her emotions in check. At any given moment she could be raging at her aunt and brothers for enforcing new boundaries on her, or curled in a corner begging to be left alone with her thoughts.

Tommy had assured her that his coppers on the peaky's payroll had promised that no one was questioning the disappearance of Officer Bell. Apparently her attacker wasn't necessarily an outstanding member of society — he'd been known to disappear inside a pub or whore house for days on end, only appearing when he'd run out of funds. They'd all assumed that he'd been spending his days at the bottom of a bottle, and not a single person on the force was concerned with her attacker's disappearance.

She knew Tommy was confidant that there would be no repercussions for the murder she'd committed, but she still felt on edge. Whenever she brought it up, both Tommy and John had gotten on her for calling it murder — insisting that it was an accident and self defence. Adding that, even if someone did take interest in the man's whereabouts, nobody would fault her in what she'd done. When she'd maintain her stance that the murder would be discovered, her brothers had started in on lecturing her over her viewpoint.

Her stressed reached its peak when she began fighting with Tommy over his enforcing Polly's new bedtime rule. Crossing her arms, refusing to move, she shouted, "A person who's murdered a man shouldn't be confined to bed at 10 o'clock."

She'd screamed and kicked at him when he had picked her up and practically thrown her into her bed. He'd barely been able to keep his anger in check when he'd made his threat, "If you use the word 'murder' one more time, I'm going to make you sit at that desk and you'll fill an entire fucking notebook with the words, 'I am not a murderer.' I don't care how long it takes, your ass will be in that chair until I'm satisfied. I swear to god Charlotte, I'm not bluffing here."

Ignoring the threat, she demanded he leave her room — it had been a few days since she'd gotten over the need to be constantly accompanied. Her family, however, had still made sure someone was always nearby, just in case. He refused her demand, and instead — in what could only be described as a show of dominance — dragged her overstuffed chair from the fireplace, across the room, and placed it directly in front of her bed. Sitting down, he lit a cigarette and glared. He clearly wasn't going anywhere. Even if he'd originally planned to leave her be, her demands had sealed her fate of being babysat overnight.

As the two glared stubbornly at one another, Tommy knew he had more important things to take care of. But he'd be damned if he let his sister get the last word in this battle. She'd been a pain in his ass the past few days, intentionally going out of her way to be an annoyance to everyone around them. He understood that she was processing. But shit, did she have to be so bullheaded while doing it?

Polly had warned him that she'd act out, that she'd test her limits, and he needed to be prepared to keep her in line. But he hadn't prepared himself for her behaviour to flip a switch overnight. The first few days after the attack she'd looked like the walking dead. Too sore to dress herself in her trousers, she'd wandered the house in a dress, refusing to eat much, and spent her time either in bed or reading. He'd given her allowances here and there: permitting more whiskey than usual. Letting her read through the gambling ledgers when she'd gotten bored. Asking Esme to clean the dishes when Charlotte had forgotten to tend to her own chores.

But when Polly had insisted that he reinforce the boundaries, Charlotte had moaned and complained and had gone out of her way to test every single one of them. And now he sat in her room, inches from her, daring her to test him tonight. Thankfully the girl had activated the self-preservation portion of her brain and she chose to merely growl at him as she rolled over to face the wall.

Leaning his head back, slouched in the chair Tommy had started to drift off. But after about twenty minutes, Charlotte had obviously gotten bored and tried to argue with him. Still facing the wall, her back to him, she started, "Tommy, will you–"

Refusing to move from his position, his eyes remained closed as he cut her off, and tried to enforce his authority, "Stop talking, Charlotte. Go to sleep."

Arguing she tried, "Would you just–"

Keeping his voice calm and eyes still closed, he cut her off again, "I said, stop talking. Shut it."

The alarms were going off in her head, insisting that she do as he told her, but she just couldn't help herself, "Tommy! Would you listen to me–"

Dammit, he was awake now. Opening his eyes and leaning forward his voice turned hard, "Shut your fucking mouth and go to sleep." Pulling a cigarette from his pocket, he took the time to light it before taking a deep breath. Steadying, he told himself he just needed to maintain his position and keep calm. She was testing him, and he needed to be the firm foundation that Polly insisted he was.

Watching her back he saw her tense, deciding what to do next. He prayed that she'd just let him have this one. He wanted nothing more in the world than for her to just shut her mouth and fall asleep. It was as if she were a toddler again, fighting her own body in an effort to stay awake. If she kept on like this, she'd make herself sick. And then he'd have an ill, injured, angsty teenager on his hands. And he just had too much on his plate to deal with that at the moment.

His prayers went unanswered as Charlotte sat up in bed, turned to face him, telling him, "Fuck you. Just leave me alone and maybe then I'll go to sleep." Raising her voice, she clenched her fists, and once again attempted to order him, "Get out. Get the fuck out!"

Keeping calm, he took another drag on his cigarette, flicked the ashes on to the floor, and made eye contact with her, "This is the final time I'll say this. Shut your mouth and go to sleep, Charlotte. If you let one more word fall from your lips, I'll drag you from that bed so fast–"

As he spoke Tommy noticed that his calm and collected demeanour seemed to infuriate her. It was as if she wanted him to yell and scream at her. She was yearning for a fight. Her face flushed and her body tensed and her sudden actions had him pausing his threat, as confusion overcame him. Time seemed to slow as he reached his hand up, touching his cheek. Pulling away and looking intently he could see the saliva he'd wiped away on his fingers. Looking from his own hand to his sister, he could see surprise written across her face as well.

She'd spit at him. She'd fucking spit on him. Time rushed forward as both Tommy and Charlotte recognised the hole she'd just dug for herself. Scrambling to get off of her bed, she made an unsuccessful attempt to run from him.

Her feet hadn't even touched the floor before he was able to grasp her arm in his hand. Dragging his unruly sister from her bed and into the washroom, his vision blurred red as he fought to keep from strangling her. If anyone else had been in the house at that moment, he would've passed Charlotte off to them. But it was just the two of them, and he'd be damned if he let her behaviour go unpunished. She was about to learn that there were consequences to actions, even in tragedy and grief.

Throwing her into the room in front of him, she landed on to the toilet, where she sat offering up apologies. Ignoring her remorse, he reached forward grabbing her chin and yanked her face forward to him. Outraged he questioned, "Are you fucking serious? What has gotten into you, Charlotte? Stop acting like a fucking child and get your shit together. You've pushed me too far this time."

Letting go of her face, he moved away from her to turn on the sink. As understanding fell upon her she tried to rise from her seated position, "Tommy, no–" Interrupting, he demanded, "Sit your ass down." Doing as he asked — for once — she sat, but continued to plead with him. "Please? I'm sorry. I really am, I'm sorry. I won't do it again." Pausing to see if her words would have any effect of him, she let a sob loose when he continued his preparations, completely ignoring her. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as she stood again. This time he couldn't keep from shouting, "Sit your ass back down and don't you fucking move!" Surprised and scared at his raised voice, tears fell as she sat. Pausing to watch her return to her seated position, he pointed to the toilet, reiterating, "Don't. You. Fucking. Move."

Continuing her pleas, she tried to break his concentration as he turned back to the sink, "I'm sorry, please... Just– Don't– I get it, I'm sorry. I am. I'm so sorry."

After a minute, he shut off the running water and turned to her. As their eyes locked she stopped talking and closed her mouth — all attempts at leniency forgotten. "Come here." Still sniffling, she kept her mouth firmly closed, and shook her head at him.

His anger rose at her defiance, "Are you seriously going to argue with me right now? You are in absolutely no position to be disobeying me, Charlotte Shelby." He watched as she held an internal battle with herself. She only had two choices: overcome her own pride and accept her punishment. Or fight back and make the whole situation that much worse. Taking her time in deciding he grew impatient at her stalling. Struggling to keep his calm, he repeated the order, "Come here. Now."

Slowly standing and making her way to him, he stood silent as she closed the three foot distance between them. Standing in front of him, she attempted a brave face. Wiping the tears from her cheeks she stood, stoically waiting for his next order. At his next command, her shoulders crumpled. She'd clearly bet on the possibility that he'd forgive and forget if she'd prove that she could follow his orders in the face of impending doom.

He repeated the command when she failed to obey the first time, "Open." Raising her chin, she shut her eyes and opened her mouth. "Out." Taking in a ragged breath she stuck out her tongue as he raised the lathered bar of soap to her mouth.

Sweeping the bar of soap along her tongue she coughed and gagged and tried to pull away from him. Grasping her by the back of the neck he was careful to stay clear of the cut that ran the length, but sure to keep her in place. "In." Shuddering, she pulled her tongue in and he placed the bar inside her mouth, ordering, "Bite."

She obeyed, gagging as she did so, trying her best not to heave as soapy saliva filled her mouth. Turning to the sink, he rinsed and dried his hands before turning to leave the room. She knew how this went, hell — every Shelby had gone through this process at multiple points throughout their life, but he needed to make sure she understood. "Charlotte?" He waited to see if she would acknowledge him. When her eyes remained closed, he became more specific, "Charlotte, look at me." Opening her eyes she turned her head to face him. Glaring at him, he could see her eyes were red and filled with angry tears as he pointed to the spot where she was standing in front of the sink. "Don't you fucking move."

Heading down the stairs without waiting to see what she'd do next, he searched his office for a bottle of whiskey he'd stashed in his desk a few days prior. Finding what he was looking for, he decided to forego a glass as he brought the bottle to his mouth, drinking straight from the source.

He hated this. All of it. This past week had been the most stressful of his life — excluding the time spent in France. Making plans with the Lee family, gathering intel on Kimber's men, and his sister's bullshit had put him all on edge.

He didn't want to be the bad guy here. He didn't want to be the one stuck with all the responsibility. When he'd taken over masterminding new ways to bring in funds for the peaky blinders, it was the easiest thing in the world. The role fit him like a well-tailored suit. All of this with Charlotte though — it had been dropped in his lap, and everyday was a new trial or tribulation.

It had been easier before the war. When their mother died Polly had moved in to the Shelby home to help their father take care of the children. Arthur had already moved out and they all knew there would be no getting him back into their home — having to share a room, listening to the baby crying, dealing with their father stumbling in at all hours of the day and night — he'd made his escape and he had no intention of letting himself get trapped again.

Then their father had left, and Tommy stepped up to help Ada with Charlotte while Arthur took over their father's role with the family business. Then a few years later — at only sixteen — John had gotten Martha Newberry pregnant and they'd been married, moving into a house just down the lane. Not long after their first child was born, another had been on the way. John loved his new role as a father. His initial fears of becoming their own dad had disappeared when he held Ethan in his arms. He had told Tommy that he'd never knew he could love something so small so much. Then not long after Katie was born, Martha became pregnant for the third time, and the two parents were elated. Martha had always wanted a large family of her own — being an only child herself — and she was happy to be well on her way to achieving her goal.

Tommy was happy for the two, but with a growing family of his own to take care of, John had all but disappeared from the Shelby home. He'd appear every now and then with Martha and the kids to share a meal or take care of some blinder business. But he wasn't able to lend a helping hand in the raising of Charlotte. Hell, Tommy couldn't blame him, by the age of 19 John had three kids and a fourth on the way. His life was already overwhelming without adding in the care of a wild ten year old.

When John had moved out, it was just Tommy and Polly taking care of Ada and Charlotte. Their uncle had helped out when needed, but the bulk of the responsibility had fallen to him. Not long after their father had left, Polly had insisted that papers be filed to have guardianship of both his sisters transferred to him. Tommy had wanted her name to be included, but she had vehemently refused. The wounds still fresh of having her own children ripped from her care, she didn't want her name anywhere near custody papers. She fully believed that if her name was associated with the care of two more children, they'd be taken away. She told him that if she had to watch two more children separated from their family, it would quite literally kill her.

He'd given in to her wishes, and at the age of eighteen he'd become legally responsible for Ada and Charlotte Shelby. It was a weight, but the family managed. It was only when he returned from the war that Polly finally left their home to be on her own for the first time in over a decade. He hadn't worried about taking over responsibility for the girls then. They were both grown and capable of taking care of themselves. Besides, he'd just returned from war — his sister's couldn't be any worse than the responsibilities he held in France. He'd never been so wrong.

If he wasn't waking himself up with nightmares of digging tunnels, he was worried about Charlotte's nightly adventures around Birmingham, or he was finding out that Ada had gone and gotten herself knocked up with fucking Freddie Thorne's baby. He knew Polly thought the responsibility for Charlotte would do him good, but he often felt like he was drowning.

But then there was Grace. His Grace. Her presence alone had chased off his nightmares. She made him feel like a new man. She was his saving Grace. Lately when he found himself getting overwhelmed he only had to take a moment to daydream about her, and he discovered his worries melted away. He truly believe with her at his side he could conquer all of England — should he take the fancy.

But here he was at home, dealing with an ill behaved thirteen year old, rather than in the bed of a beautiful Irish barmaid, or even working on the last few details in his plan to oust Billy Kimber. Jesus, he wished Polly were here to deal with this. She was so much better at managing Charlotte than he was.

He thought he'd had a hold on her before the attack, but since then she'd taken to throwing all caution to the wind. She just didn't give a damn. He understood that what she'd gone through could break even the strongest person. But it was like she'd been broken, and when she'd managed to put the pieces back together, she'd pieced together a completely different girl. He still recognised the stubborn way she held herself, but more often than not her eyes seemed dull and dead, and he was becoming more and more concerned.

"Fuck!" Shouting out loud did nothing to ease his frustration. "Fuck." Nope, still didn't work. He really wished Polly was here, she was just better at this. Looking to the clock on the wall, he decided to give Charlotte another few minutes on her own.

Taking another swig from the bottle he hoped Charlotte would forgive him for this. It wasn't the first time she'd been left in the washroom, savouring the flavour of a bar of soap. But it was the first time he'd been the one inflicting the punishment upon her.

He couldn't count the number of times his own mother had dragged him off of the street or outta bed to force a bar of soap into his mouth for some indiscretion or another. The woman had gotten creative over the years trying to keep her children in line. He could remember John's face turning red as she dumped a tablespoon of black pepper into his mouth, instructing him to chew. He couldn't remember what exactly it was that John had done — but he did know it was much deserved, and that he'd never done it again.

Putting the bottle back into its hiding place, he rubbed his face, and braced himself for what would come next. He'd left Charlotte on her own for fifteen minutes now, that seemed to be a sufficient amount of time to make her regret her actions.

Making his way back up the stairs, he entered the narrow room and kept his voice even and orders succinct. "Spit it out and rinse." Taking the bar from her mouth she refused to acknowledge him as she bent her head to the tap, taking big gulps of water to rid her mouth of the taste.

As she funnelled water into her mouth with her hand before swishing, spitting, and repeating he took the opportunity to lecture her. He felt calmer and clearer as he explained, "You've been a right pain in me ass these past few days, you know that?" Not waiting for an answer, he continued, "You've been disobedient to me and Polly. And I've let it go. You're going through a hard time — I understand that, I do." Pausing he took a deep breath, trying not to get angry again as he turned off the faucet and gripped her by the shoulders, standing her up to face him. "But what you just did is above and beyond what I'm willing to tolerate. For fucks sake, Charlotte, you spit on me. What were you trying to accomplish? I mean, Christ girl, think about these things!" Rubbing his hands over his face, unsure of where his speech was going, he was grateful when he heard her mumbled apology.

"Yeah, I'm sure you are sorry, now. Can you promise me you'll not do something that stupid again?" Looking at her feet rather than up at him, she nodded her head and chewed on her lip.

Nope. That wasn't going to cover it. "Look at me, and say it."

"Yes, I promise." Looking at him she was clearly angry, but he could see the remorse underlying it all.

"Good, now get your ass to bed." Stepping aside he motioned for her to exit through the door. Not immediately following his order, she reached for her toothbrush and mint powder. Snatching them out of her hands, he told her, "You've already rinsed. You get to go to bed with that taste in your mouth."

Turning sour she opened her mouth to argue with him. Raising an eyebrow he clenched his jaw, wordlessly asking if she wanted to argue with him at the moment. Closing her mouth she balled her fists before stomping out of the washroom.

"Smart girl." Growling at his final word on the matter, he was pleased to see that she had turned off her lamp before crawling into bed. They were both exhausted, and he wanted nothing more than for both of them to sleep.

Stepping into the room, he dragged the chair back to its home in front of the fireplace, and placing himself in it he rested his feet on the chair opposite him. Leaning his head back he let his mind wander as he drifted to sleep. Sleeping in a chair was never comfortable and it felt like he'd simultaneously been stuck there for hours but still only getting twenty minutes of sleep when we found himself being shaken awake.

The movement permeated his dreams and he became irritated as his consciousness rose to the surface. "Tommy? Tommy? I need help. Wake up. Tommy?" As he opened his eyes, Charlotte took a step back, unsure if he'd lash out at her rousing him. He'd told her more than once since he'd accidentally shot at her to be careful when waking him. Adjusting his eyes and remembering where he was he focused on her, "Charlie? What's wrong?" Sitting up he looked around the room to see if anything was amiss.

Fidgeting with her hands she seemed anxious and nervous, "It's nothing, really. It's just that... I think this is bleeding." Stepping into the light coming from the fire, she tilted her head, showing him her neck. The bandage had peeled back and he could see red irritated lines on either side of the long, bleeding, cut. Holding out her hands she brought his attention to the dark and crusted blood on her palms and under her fingernails.

Standing up he guided her to sit in the chair he'd just vacated. "Jesus, what did you do?" Removing the bandage entirely he could see that she'd scratched away the scab that had formed, causing the wound to split open, a trail of blood to escape. "Shit." He mumbled to himself, trying to take in the damage.

While he was examining the injury he realised that she was shaking beneath his hands. She wasn't crying, but she seemed extremely flustered and a little bit embarrassed. Not looking at him she rambled on, filling the silence with her voice, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I was asleep and I felt this pain... And when I woke up it was like this. Please don't be more mad. I didn't mean to. I'm really sorry." Taking a shuddering breath she was trying her hardest not to cry.

Looking at her in the dim light she seemed so very young. And so very tired. The bruises on her arms had turned yellow, the bags under her eyes were dark, and this cut along her neck was still angry and red, clearly having a hard time healing. She had to be drained. Looking to the clock, he could see it was about four in the morning — they'd only gotten about three or four hours of sleep.

Turning her face to look at him he told her, "Come on, Charlie. I'm not mad. It was an accident. You didn't–" Cutting him off she explained, "No, about it all. Please don't be mad. I don't know why I did it. I'm sorry. I just need your help."

"Charlie, it's fine. It's all done. Let's just focus on getting this taken care of. Do you have anymore bandages?" Pointing to a basket in the corner, she informed him, "Esme left that there. I think there's ointment, tape, and bandages. But it itches, really bad."

Brining the basket of supplies to the chair, he started rummaging through to find what he needed. "Ok, lemme just get these–" Interrupting him she tried to press the true meaning of her statement, "It itches, Tom. Really bad. Esme said that's not good." Understanding washed over him. "It needs to be cleaned, doesn't it?" Nodding at him she closed her eyes and rolled her head back, frustration and exhaustion overwhelming her. "Right. You stay here, I'll be right back."

Grabbing the bottle of rum from his own room and a cloth from the washroom, he returned to find her picking at the scab. Smacking her hand away he scolded, "Stop. Don't do that. You'll only make it worse." Pulling her hand away to rest in her lap she whined, "But it itches..."

Sighing he knelt in front of her, pouring rum on to the cloth, "I know it does. I know you don't want to do this, either. But it was really brave of you to show me, knowing full well what would need to happen." Scoffing, she rolled her eyes at him, "Not brave. More like scared. Scared that Esme would make me go to hospital."

Trying to distract her from what he had to do next he teased, "Yeah? So you'd rather be here with me, than at hospital with Esme and some doctor that would be blissfully unaware of what a pain in the ass you are?" Shaking her head, she gave a small laugh at his terrible joke.

Taking advantage of the small distraction he moved as quickly as possible, reaching up with the bottle to pour the burning fluid into the wound and trap it in with the cloth. The air was ripped from her lungs and she bit down on her lip nearly causing that to bleed. As the rum soaked into the cloth he removed it from her neck and sat back, allowing her a bit of space. "Breathe, Charlie." Gasping in air at his command she shakily let it out, gathering her wits.

After a moment she opened her eyes and unclenched her fists, "I'm tired of having to do that."

"I'm tired of wasting all me good liquor."

Taking in another breath and exhaling she replied, "I think I've got the worse deal."

Standing he took a drink from the bottle, offering it to her next. Taking a large drink herself, she handed it back to him and he finished it off, "I don't know... That's some pretty good booze."

Choosing not to respond she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Fatigue was weighing her down, and after shocking her body with pain, the adrenaline fading out of her would put her right to sleep.

"Let's get this bandage on you, and then back into bed, eh?" Sitting up she nodded at him, turning her head to provide him easier access to the wound. It took less than five minutes to patch her back up, but in that short amount of time, she'd managed to fall asleep on him.

He couldn't miss the irony here. Only a few hours ago he'd wanted nothing more than for her to get to sleep, and now he'd have to wake her up to get her into bed, and make sure everything felt alright.

Shaking her shoulder he roused her, "Come on Charlie. Let's get you back into bed." Cracking her eyes slightly, she rose from the chair and turned and made her way back across the room. "Does that dressing feel right? I can re-tape it if it doesn't..."

Shaking her head, she climbed under her quilt, "No. It's fine. I'm fine." Rolling to face her wall, she mumbled, "Thanks, Tommy. I'm sorry, too. Really."

Tucking in her blanket he told her, "I know. Don't worry, it's all done with now. I'll be in my room, Charlie girl. If you need me, come wake me up."

She said something unintelligible into her pillow and he left the room. Assuming it was some sort of confirmation of understanding he made his way to his own room. Collapsing on the bed, he was asleep before he could turn the light off.

The next morning Charlotte woke to her aunt rummaging around in her bookshelves. Stretching and wiping the sleep from her eyes, she questioned the woman, "Aunt Pol? Whatcha doing?"

"Oh nothing love, you left a few books in the living room. I was just putting them away." Turning back to the shelves Polly straightened a few more books before turning around, "Why don't you come down for some breakfast."

Shaking her head, Charlotte told her, "Eh, I'm not hungry." Sighing, her aunt moved across the room to sit on her bed, "Charlie, you gotta start eating more. This isn't healthy."

Sitting up, Charlotte tried to argue with the older woman, "Aunt Pol, I'm fine. I eat when I'm hungry. I'm just not hungry right now."

Raising an eyebrow and giving her a guttural "mmmhmmm" noise, Polly clearly wasn't convinced. In an attempt to battle her motherly concern Charlotte continued, "Really, Pol. I'm fine. I eat when I'm hungry, I sleep when I'm tired, and I've been reading when I'm bored. I'm alright. I promise."

In response, Polly asked a question that Charlotte was entirely unprepared for, "I haven't seen you with that notebook of yours in a while in a while. Why don't you try writing in that song book that you think is so secret?"

Trying to act casual, Charlotte pretended as if she had no idea what her aunt was referencing. "What? A song book? I don't know what you're on about."

"Charlie, I'm not an idiot. And I'm not deaf either. Even if I didn't know about you running off with Johnny Dogs and that Black Country boy, I still have ears to hear."

Shaking her head, Charlotte tried to dig her heels into the denial. "What? Pol, you've gone mental–"

"Oh shut it, Charlotte Shelby." Giving her the look, Polly continued, "Even before your brothers got home you were always up here singing and writing. Making up tunes. Fiddling around with the rhyme of the words. You're not as sneaky as you think you are."

Rolling her eyes Charlotte threw herself backwards into her pillow. "Damnit, does everyone know my secret? Am I that awful at hiding everything."

Laughing at her dramatics, Polly hushed her concerns, "Oh, trust me. You're still a little weasel. Those idiots you call brothers are just as much in the dark as you want them to be." Pausing to think, she added, "Well, you might want to get a handle on Dogs' mouth — that man talks a mile a minute, and he's bound to spill the beans sooner rather than later."

"Yeah, I know. I just haven't been around much the past month." Sighing she thought about Johnny and her little group of misfits. She knew she should want to see them, but she just didn't have the ambition to get out and find them. Interrupting her thoughts Polly continued her attempts at a nurturing push to get Charlotte out of the house. "How bout you come down for some breakfast, eh? Maybe put some proper clothes on and take a walk? I hear Johnny's been loitering over at that Irish pub across the town."

"I'll think about it."

"You really need to get out. School's already started up and you're missing it. I'm sure getting out and getting busy would do you some good."

Poking his head into the room Tommy, having overheard the last portion of their conversation, asked, "We going out today, Charlie?"

Responding too quickly for her aunt's liking she relied, "No."

When Polly gave her a quick look, she corrected, "I'm thinking about it."

"Well, I think you should. It'd be good for you. Go get some air."

Rolling her eyes she grumbled, "Noted."

Standing up, and clapping her hands together, Polly announced, "Well, now that we've discussed that. Both of you — downstairs for breakfast." Throwing the covers back from Charlotte's bed, Polly reached out to grab her niece, pulling her towards the exit.

"Pol, I can walk! Let go." Doing as asked, Polly let go of her arm, only to push her from behind toward the door. "I'm going! I'm going. Christ almighty."

Sitting at the table, Polly presented the two siblings with a plate of eggs each. As the trio sat in an awkward silence, Polly made an attempt at conversation, "So... How was your evening? You two have a good time together?"

At the question, Charlotte leaned forward, letting her loose hair cover her face as she furiously crammed a spoonful of eggs into her mouth. Her cheeks flushed red, and she prayed Tommy would have the courtesy to keep his mouth shut. Having no such luck, she watched him out of the corner of her eye as he cleared his throat, addressing their aunt, "There was an incident. But it's been taken care of, and there's no need to bring it up again."

Barely moving a muscle, Polly's eyes shifted between the two siblings, attempting to discern the meaning of Tommy's cryptic message. When neither Shelby spoke up to explain further, Polly asked, "An incident? What's that mean?" Waiting for an answer to her question, and not receiving one, she tried again, "Charlotte?"

Still not looking up from her plate, Charlotte tried to get her aunt off the subject, "It's nothing, Pol." Polly attempted to question them again, still not satisfied with the responses she was receiving, when Tommy spoke up. "Pol, it's nothing. Charlie and I had a disagreement, but we came to an understanding with each other, isn't that right, Charlie?"

Nodding her head, Charlotte wasn't given a chance to speak before Tommy continued, "We don't need to discuss it further. It's done and taken care of, end of story."

Throwing her hands in the air Polly scolded them, "You two are insufferable." Reaching for a cigarette and lighting up, she repeated herself, "Just completely insufferable." Sitting back down Polly drank her tea, succumb to the fact that neither Shelby in front of her was interested in any sort of conversation this morning.

Looking at the food in front of her Charlotte tried to find the food appetising, but she just couldn't stomach it. She picked and poked, but even the smallest bite upset her stomach. She wanted to make Polly happy, but eating these eggs wasn't going to happen. By the time Tommy had finished his plate and was shrugging on his jacket to leave for the day, Charlotte was still playing with the food, pushing it around on the plate in an effort to make it seem like she'd eaten more than she actually had.

Kissing his sister on the head, Tommy made his way through the double green doors and into his office to fetch his cap. Standing to follow him, Charlotte watched as Polly closed the doors behind her, "I'll be back. Just wait here and try to eat some more."

As the doors closed and she heard Polly lock them in place, Charlotte had no doubt that the following conversation between Tommy and Polly would be about her. Rolling her eyes at the thought she pushed her plate away and rested her head on the table, happy to let her mind wander until her aunt returned.

"Tommy, we need to have a talk about your sister." Looking over his shoulder Tommy could see Polly locking the shop doors and heading toward him.

"Eh, why's that?" Trying to move out of his office, Polly blocked his way, putting her hands oh her hips, and managing to fill the entire doorway with her small frame.

Sighing, he sat back onto the corner of his desk, resigning himself to being Polly's captive audience. "She needs to get out and back in school. Classes were back in session this week and she's not remotely interested in going."

Not understanding his aunts need to rush his sister back into everyday life, he questioned, "Why don't we wait for her to be ready?"

Rolling her eyes she started in on him, as if what she had to say was the most obvious thing in all the world, "Because if you let her have her way, she'll never be ready. She'll keep moping around here, never getting back into the way of things. She needs to attend classes, and you need to get her there."

Jesus, What was it always his responsibility? Couldn't they just wait until the girl was ready to get herself to school?

Polly continued, "The two of you had a deal. Don't forget. You lot voted to let her in on this business–"

Interrupting her, he wanted to make it clear that her worry over Charlotte's involvement was unnecessary, "The legal business."

She wasn't interested in defining the difference, "Yes, Thomas, the legal business. But part of allowing her in, was the agreement on her end in following the rules you laid out. And one of those rules was making sure she finished school."

"I know the rules, Pol — you don't have to lecture me."

"Then start enforcing them!"

"I've got to go. I'll talk to her in a few days, try to get her to agree to go back next week. Alright?" Glaring at him, she didn't respond. "Pol, I'm going to be busy the next few days. I'll talk to her when I get a chance."

Pushing past her, he refused to be a prisoner in his own office. Heading toward the door he called after her, "Come lock this after me."

Opening the shop door, Tommy was startled when there was a boy standing there, hand raised to knock. Pushing past him, Tommy informed, "Shop's closed, mate. Come back later."

Walking away, Tommy expected to hear Polly close the door to the shop, but instead he heard the kid's voice speak up at his retreating figure, "Oh... No... I'm here to see Charlie." Stopping at the kid's statement, Tommy turned around to get a good look at him. Inclining his head as he lit a cigarette he asked, "Eh?"

The boy looked familiar — he was tall, lanky, and had to be fourteen or fifteen. "I'm here to see Charlie..." Pausing, he waited to see if Tommy would reply. When he continued to smoke his cigarette, looking as if he didn't recognise a word the boy was saying, he continued, "Charlotte? Shelby?"

"Are you asking me a question? Or do you not know who you're actually looking for?"

Squirming under the intense questioning the kid spoke up, "No. I know who I'm looking for. I'm here to see Charlie — we're friends. School started back up this week, and she hasn't been round. So I just wanted to check in on her. I saw Johnny Dogs yesterday and he mentioned that something had happened. So I just wanted to stop by."

Taking a menacing step back toward the kid, Tommy asked, "You think it's your job to come check up on my sister? Eh? Who the fuck are you?"

Stepping out of the house, interrupting the interrogation, Polly put her hand on the boy's shoulder. "Thomas, go attend to your business. This is Jessup. He's a friend of your sister's."

Tilting his head at the information, Tommy questioned, "Jessup? Parish? You're friends with my sister?" Nodding his head in confirmation the kid looked to Polly for rescuing. Not giving her time to get involved again, he continued his line of questioning, "Didn't our Charlie just break your nose? Said you tried to kiss her, so she made your face unkissable."

His face flushed with embarrassment and he stuttered to explain, "Yes, well. That was last year, things change."

Laughing at his statement Tommy repeated, "Things change, eh? Ain't that the truth." Finished with his fun Tommy turned without another word, heading off to take care of business.

As he walked away he could hear Polly ushering the boy into the shop, "Hurry in. Gotta get this door closed before people think we're open for business."

Startling awake when the doors to the shop opened, she was further surprised to see JP standing there, a stupid grin on his face.

"What are you doing here?"

"Funny, I think your brother asked me the same question. He was nicer though." Giving her a crooked grin Jessup leaned forward and pushed her shoulder in a teasing gesture.

"Aw, shit. Sorry. I just wasn't expecting company." Messing with her hair, she looked around the room, "Em, but really, why you here?"

Shrugging his shoulders he pulled out a chair and took a seat. "No reason. You hadn't been around much. So I just stopped in to see how you were doing."

Giving him a glare, Charlotte made it clear she thought his excuse what utter bullshit.

Under her scrutiny, Jessup crumbled. "Jesus Christ, what's with you Shelby's? Your brother just gave me the same damn look." Still glaring, Charlotte waited for the truth.

"Fine! I ran into Dogs yesterday — he told me what happened."

Throwing her hands in the air, Charlotte nearly upended her plate of eggs. "Of course he did. Man couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it."

Interrupting their bickering, Polly asked, "Would you like some tea, Jessup?"

"No, thanks Mrs. Gray. Not much for tea, meself." Putting the kettle back on the stove, Polly leaned against the countertop, waiting to see what Charlotte would do.

Looking from her aunt to her friend, Charlotte felt the awkward silence like a heavy weight in her chest. Unsure of what to do next she blurted out, "You wanna come upstairs for a bit?"

Looking to Charlotte's aunt for permission before responding, Polly nodded in approval before Jessup could agree "Sure. I've got a few minutes before classes start."

Leading her friend up the stairs, Charlotte was more than a little relieved that Tommy had already headed out for the day. An interrogation from him over JP's presence in their house would've pushed her over the edge.

As she lead him into her room, the two got comfortable in the stuffed chairs, cozying up to the fire. "So, you just been hanging around here all day?"

Shrugging, not looking to him she answered, "Well, there's been a bit more to it than that — but, yeah, basically."

"When you coming back to school?"

"Dunno."

"Well, when you gonna come play with us? Ezra's been asking, and Johnny's in town. I'm sure me cousin would let us use the back room at the Black Lion. We could all meet up tonight."

"Half Irish... Half Black Country gypsy... You're lucky Tommy doesn't know your family that well. He'd have you cut just for stepping foot in his shop."

"You're avoiding the subject, Charlie."

"Leave me alone, I just don't feel like it." Huffing she slouched in her chair, "Besides, if I try leaving the house tonight, Tommy's bound to ask a bunch of questions. And it's in all of our best interests to make sure none of the Shelby boys find out what I've been up to with you lot."

"But your brothers are friends with Johnny Dogs..."

As if it were the most obvious thing in the world, she informed him, "Sure, the man's basically family. Still doesn't change anything."

"Alright. Have you at least written anything lately? I could take it to Ezra and he could write some music for it. Maybe hearing your words in song would make you feel better."

Leaning back, she closed her eyes, unwilling to take this conversation to any deeper level. "I've written a few lines here and there, but nothing more than that."

"Come on, Charlie. We miss you."

She did miss Ezra, and this was the first time she'd seen JP in a month. But the thought of getting out and being with people held no allure for her. In fact it sounded damn right stressful. Then there was the notion that if she were up and out, Tommy and Polly would make her go back to school. She'd be forced to spend her mornings and afternoons at school listening to the teachers drone on and on about mathematics and grammar, stitching and finances. God it sounded awful.

She thought her little band of singers and musicians. She missed them, she really did. It had been a while since they'd gotten together to play around. But not just wasn't the time. "Leave it, JP. I'm not interested."

"Think about Ezra. He gets to see you even less than I do."

Ezra Harlow was her closest friend, and an incredibly talented musician. There wasn't an instrument on the planet that he couldn't learn in a week or two. It was actually infuriating. She struggled to learn something as simple as the guitar, and he could just pick up a banjo or fiddle and figure it out. Easy, no problem.

He'd come from a completely different world from her own. He'd grown up in Birmingham, but his home life was on an entirely different level from hers. His mother had come from an upper class family who instilled the importance of music and art in their children.

When Diane Brown was seventeen she'd met her future husband at a pub. He'd been playing the fiddle in a small band, and it was love at first sight. They'd run away and gotten married, and eventually settled in Birmingham where they had two kids, and Mr. Harlow started teaching at a nearby secondary school.

Mrs. Harlow had attempted to pass down her love of music to both of her sons, but her eldest, Ephram, had never had much interest in the subject. Ezra on the other hand couldn't go a day without playing his guitar or stringing together a few cords out of silly things he'd heard people say throughout the day. He'd been so talented that he'd earned himself a spot at the Birmingham School of Music. His mother had been delighted; his father less so. Mr. Harlow had insisted that you couldn't live a life on music alone. The man enjoyed his sons talent, but was firm in his belief that a man needed other skills to survive — economics and such.

After much discussion on the matter, Ezra's parents agreed that he would attend the music school part time, while finishing up his maths and sciences lessons in Small Heath. With his time divided Charlotte had learned to cherish the times that they had to spend together outside of school playing instruments and writing songs.

Interrupting her thoughts, Jessup's voice brought her back to reality, "You just need a little push to get you going. Something to get you outta this depression."

"Oh yeah? And what do you propose to help me to that?"

Reaching into his jacket pocket he pulled out a familiar blue vial.

Shocked at his nonchalant attitude in producing the drug, she couldn't stop the words as they flew from her mouth, "Jesus, you just carry that shit around with you?" Looking to her bedroom door she made sure nobody was standing there. Getting up she walked to shut the door, giving them a bit more privacy. "Why the fuck are you carrying around snow? Huh, JP?"

Waving his hands at her, as if she were over reacting he told her, "I keep it on me — just in case I need a little extra energy." Unstopping the top he held it out to her.

Pushing the vial back toward him, she felt anxious. "No. Absolutely not. Do you know what they'd do to me if they found out? Uh-uh, no. Not going to happen. Put it away."

"Come on Charlie, you're a peaky blinder. Stop acting like you've never seen the stuff before." When she crossed her arms and glared at him, he put the top back on the vial, setting it on her side table.

"Oh trust me, I've seen it. I've had me hands on it, but–"

Cutting her off with a sly grin he asked, "Oh, you have, eh? Recently? Are the peaky blinders getting into the game?"

"What? No! I'm just saying that it's nothing new–"

"Oh yeah? If not from your brothers where'd you find some snow?"

She was starting to get irritated at his interrupting, "I didn't say it wasn't from them... I'm just saying–"

"Well if they're doing it, what's wrong with you doing it?"

"Stop interrupting me, or I'm gonna break your nose again." Leaning back in his chair he held his arms up in surrender. Sighing at his dramatics, she continued, "You really don't know how this family works. Just because they do it, doesn't mean I'm allowed."

"Why not? That's not fair." It sounded as if he didn't really believe her.

"Yeah, well... That's the way of it."

"Really Charlie. Is that the reason? Just because? So, because Arthur says so — you can't. But he can go out and get blitzed anytime he wants."

"Kinda... Yeah. That's the way things have always been. It's not just me, though." She was starting to get defensive over his scrutiny of her family. "Same went for Ada too. And really, Arthur's the only one that's so outta control sometimes. Tommy and John aren't all like that."

Picking up the small bottle he played with it, fidgeting, "I don't understand what all the worry is about. It's just tokyo, it's really not that big of a deal. It's just like smoking, but instead of calming, its energising."

Scoffing at him, she informed, "I'm not allowed to smoke either."

"Christ, they just keep you locked up in this house, expecting you to be some Virgin Mary, while they're out smoking, fighting, and drinking their way through Birmingham? How can you live like this?"

Thinking that he might have a good point, she examined his words, "Well, I never really thought about it like that before. I guess it is a little unfair..."

JP continued his lecture, "They were gone for almost five years, and they get back here and start ordering you around. You had your own life while they were gone, you did fine on your own. And now they're acting like you couldn't possibly survive without them."

"It's not like that all the time, JP. I mean, things are dangerous right now. I mean, shit... I fucking killed a copper."

"Yeah, I get that. I'm just saying maybe you can live a little, all on your own." Standing up, vial still in hand, he headed toward the door. "I gotta get going. Don't wanna be late for class."

Charlotte watched as he opened the door and gave one last ditch effort to get her to meet up later. "Charlie, it's not all that bad out there. We'd all really love to see you soon."

"I know, but today's not that day."

Nodding at her, his face fell in disappointment as he started turned the corner. Not getting up from her chair, she knew he'd be able to see his way out.

"But I'm just gonna leave this here for you." Placing the blue vial on her bookshelf, he gave her a wink before running down the hall.

Jumping up after him, she grabbed the vial and she followed chase. "Jessup Parish, you get your ass back here!" Reaching the bottom of the stairs, JP alluded her grasp as Polly made an appearance from the kitchen.

"Charlotte, what are you hollering about?" Giving her a look Polly put her hands on her hips and waited for an answer. Throwing JP and evil look she replied, "It's nothing, Aunt Pol."

Clenching her fist around the cocaine, she prayed her aunt wouldn't notice.

"Sorry Mrs. Gray, we were just messing around." Raising a finder to scold them Polly admonished, "No running in the house."

The two teenagers apologized as Polly turned and made her way back into the family's home.

"Mrs. Gray, I'm afraid I'm off for school. Should I leave through the shop or house?" Charlotte needed to give the vial back before he could make his escape. What the fuck was he trying to prove?

"Come this way, Jessup, I don't wanna go opening the shop door until it's time to start business." Beckoning her friend into the main home, JP looked over his shoulder and waved, "I'm sure I'll see you sooner than later, Charlie."

Knowing that she'd lost any chance she'd get to give him back his offending substance, she growled back at him, "You can count on it, Jessup."

* * *

"Charlie! You've got visitors!" Closing her book, she rested it back on the shelf before stepping out her bedroom door to holler back at her aunt, "Who is it, Pol?"

"Just get down here! I'm not going to shout up at you all night!" Rolling her eyes, Charlie checked herself in the mirror before heading down. The bruises on her face were healing and fading nicely, but the cut along her neck still felt sore and raw beneath it's bandage. Tucking her shirt into her trousers she decided that there wasn't much else she could do to make herself look more presentable.

Making her way into the kitchen, Charlotte saw Polly, but no visitors. "Well, who is it? Where are they?" Polly's face held a grin as she motioned for Charlotte to make her way through the hall into the sitting room. As she stepped into the room, she noted that the temperature was significantly colder than the rest of the house as Polly closed the door to the kitchen behind her. Looking around there was no one in the room, but the front door was hanging wide open.

Confused and frozen in place, Charlotte nearly tripped when Polly nudged her forward, closer to the open door. Polly reached to the coat rack, plucking an old coat off and handing in her niece, "Here, put this on. It's cold."

"Polly, the door's wide open. Of course it's cold." Shrugging on the jacket she questioned her aunt, "What's going on? I thought you said there were visitors?"

"That would be us, love."

Looking to the open door for the familiar voice, Charlotte was surprised to see Jessup and Ezra step from the sides into the open door frame.

"What the hell are you two doing here?" Pointing her finger at Jessup he added, "And you. You've gotta lotta nerve–"

Stepping into the house, Ezra cut her off and began an explanation, "Well, you see, JP here told me how he went to see you this morning and how out of sorts you were. So after classes we decided we'd come to take you out for a walk to get some air."

Shaking her head she informed the boys, "No thanks, mate. I'm not up for it tonight — besides I can't leave, my–"

Feeling a pressure on her back, pushing her forward toward the door and her friends, Charlotte stopped talking and Polly filled the silence, "Don't you worry about it, my dear. I'm giving you permission — in fact — I'm insisting. If Tommy gets home, I'll explain, don't you worry bout a thing."

"No, Polly. I don't want–" Again her pleas were ignored as JP and Ezra stepped forward to take hold of her arms. Nearly lifting her off the ground, they swiftly lead her outside. Trying to jerk her arms out of their grasp, she argued, "Put me down! I'm gonna fucking kill both of you. Put me down right now!"

Speaking over her shouting, Ezra yelled back to her aunt, "We're only taking her to my place for supper, Aunt Pol. My uncle is visiting from America, so my mom's doing up a whole meal. I'll make sure to walk her back later this evening."

As the boys carried her further from her home she heard Polly shout back, "Sounds good, Ezra. You boys make sure to take good care of our Charlie."

This time is was Jessup's turn to shout, "Will do, Mrs. Gray!"

And with that Polly slammed the door to number five Watery Lane, leaving her high and dry.

"Fucking traitors, the lot of you. Let go of me!" Still struggling, the boys held tight leading her down the lane and around the corner, toward the Harlow residence.

"Oh, stop your blarting."

Setting her on her feet, but not loosening his grip, Ezra started in on her, "Listen, if you really want to go back, we'll take you. But hear us out first, yeah?" Rolling her eyes she raised an eyebrow, silently giving him permission to continue. "Right then, Uncle Theo is visiting from America. He brought back a whole entire book of new songs and music he learned since he's been living in Charleston. My mom's making a whole dinner, and my dad said he'd let us practice some songs in his study. It's gonna be a good time, Charlie."

Sighing she threw her head back, and speaking to the sky asked, "Lord, why do you try me with fools?"

Laughing, JP pushed her shoulder and questioned, "Is that a yes?"

"Jesus Christ, boys. That's a yes. Now unhand me!" Shaking look her arms she laughed as Ezra threw an arm around her shoulder, "I knew you'd say yes. Charlie Shelby, you've missed us."

Pushing him away from her she teased, "Missed you? Ha! I've missed your mother's cooking is more like it."

Grinning at her as the three walked together, he muttered, "Liar."

As she stepped into the Harlow home, Charlotte's senses were nearly overwhelmed. The smell of food cooking her mouth water. Taking off her jacket, Ezra took it from her in a gentlemanly fashion as his mother entered the room. "Charlotte, my girl! How are you?" Before she could respond, she was engulfed in a smothering hug. Mrs. Harlow had always held a soft spot for Charlotte, insisting that no girl should have to live a life like hers.

Holding her out by the shoulders, Mrs. Harlow examined Charlotte. "Oh, my dear. You poor thing." Blushing under the scrutiny Charlotte insisted, "It's alright, Mrs. H., he got it worse, I promise you that." Laughing as she gave a sweet kiss to her head Mrs. Harlow told her, "Of that I have no doubt."

Turning to her son and Jessup, Mrs. Harlow announced, "You kids head off to your father's study. Teddy's waiting in there for you. Dinner won't be ready for a while yet. I'll call when it's time to get washed up."

And with that the kids were off. Heading into the dimly lit room, Charlotte was the first to enter. "Is that little Charlie Shelby, I see there?" Laughing she allowed the older man to hug her, "Hey Uncle Theo, how's life in the colonies?"

Charlotte had known Theodore Brown for almost as long as she could remember. As Mrs. Harlow's younger brother he'd bounced from his sister's home to his parent's home his whole life. In fact, he'd been the one that convinced Mrs. Harlow to let her little Ezra befriend the Shelby sister.

It wasn't long after she'd beat the piss outta Elijah Miller, that the bully had gotten it in his mind that he needed to find a new victim. She'd been waiting after school out in the yard for Arthur to come and walk her home, when she's discovered who his new victim had become. Waiting like a good sister, Charlotte was getting increasingly irritated at Arthur's lateness — which was usual. But what had been unusual was the shouts and sounds of a fight coming from around the corner.

Leaving her bench to investigate the commotion she saw a group of kids gathered around little Ezra Harlow and her former bully, Elijah Miller. Ezra had always been nice to her, he was quiet and shy, and could hardly hurt a flea. And here he was, getting punched right in the face by the boy she hated the most. She didn't want to get involved. Polly had been really angry with her the last time she'd fought, she didn't want to bring her wrath upon herself again. But she really hated standing back and watching a kid already on the ground get the snot beat outta him by such an unpleasant bully.

As she saw Elijah haul his fist back for the third time, readying to sock it to the younger boy good, all thoughts of the walloping Polly had given her for her last fight flew from her mind. As her feet carried her across the grounds, Charlotte heard whispers and gasps as she grabbed Elijah by the scruff of the neck and threw him to the ground. He'd been so absorbed in beating Ezra he hadn't noticed her come up behind him. Looking up at her from the ground, he tried to get up, but she brought her foot back and kicked him square in the ribs before he could get his feet under him.

Hauling back to kick him a second time she started yelling, "You remember me? I'm the girl that made you cry not two weeks ago."

She could hear jeers and shouts of encouragement from all around her as she continued. "I'm fucking Charlie Shelby. You motherfucking cocksucker." He was trying to back away from her, but she kept on him. As he scrambled away, she took two more steps closer. "You think your so special going around picking on other people, eh?" He'd stopped moving as she took a final step forward, her foot crushing his hand. Tears welled in his eyes and the boy tried to keep from crying out. "What's wrong Elijah? Can't take it as good as you can give it?" Putting more pressure on his hand with her boot she heard a crack and the boy couldn't hold in a howl any longer.

"Bet that hurts, eh?" Bending down she got in his face, "Stop fucking beating up people in the yard you son of a bitch, or I'll cut you again. You hear me?" Nodding at her, she brought her fit back and slammed it into his face. His head was thrown back into the pavement, his nose started squirting blood, and the crowd around her cheered. She was about to go in for another punch when she felt herself being lifted up and dragged away.

Fighting her captor she continued to scream, "By order of the peaky blinders! You hear me Elijah Miller? I'll drown you in the cut, you cracked motherfucker! I swear to–"

Her next threat was cut off as a hand clamped down over her mouth. "Now where'd a skinny little six year old learn curse words like that, eh?" Hearing the voice she calmed as she was carried away from the scene of the fight. Trying to answer the question the hand remained firmly clamped down on her mouth. Frustrated she licked the palm and smiled in satisfaction as she was both placed on the ground and given the ability to speak once again.

Turning she placed her hands on her hips, "Why'd you ask stupid questions? You know exactly where I learned those words, Tommy." Lifting up her hand she pointed at him, "And he's standing right in front of me." As he finished wiping this hand off on his trousers, he reached forward and grabbed her wrist. Examining both of her bloody hands he announced, "Those are gonna be bruised. You know, you shouldn't be fighting, Charlie."

Tugging her hands back from him she crossed her arms and pouted, "Arthur gets in fights all the time–"

"Arthur's older, he's allowed."

"Well that's stupid. I'm good at it, I should be allowed. It's not fair."

Sighing he rolled his eyes and reached to grab her hand in an attempt to walk her home, "Life's not fair, Charlie girl. Doesn't mean you get to break all the rules."

Pulling her hand out of his she stopped, pointed back at the kids still gathered around the prone figure of Elijah Miller. "He was beating up someone else. I had to stop him. It wasn't nice."

"Wait, he was beating up someone else? Not you?"

Shaking her head she informed him, "Nope. Not me. Ezra Harlow. He's nice. And Elijah was beating him while he was already on the ground." Whining louder in an attempt to make him understand her plight of conscious she continued, "I had to, Tommy! Elijah's a real son of a bitch, and he's gotta stop."

"And it's your job to make him?"

"Yup." She nodded at him in total confidence.

Rolling his eyes, he grabbed her hand once more, "Come on. Let's go home."

As the pair walked home she questioned, "Where's Arthur? He's supposed to get me."

"He's busy."

Not accepting the answer she pried further, "Busy with what?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

"But he was–"

"Mind your own business, Charlie."

His voice was firm and reprimanding, and she tried to pull her hand out of his, in an attempt to pout. Squeezing her hand to keep it firmly rested in his own, he told her, "You're stuck with me, Charlie girl. Like it or not."

The next morning as Arthur walked her to school they ran into Ephram and Ezra Harlow walking with an older man, around Arthur's age. As the walked closer, Ezra reached up, tugged on the older man's sleeve and whispered something into his ear. Looking up and across the way, the man pointing to Charlotte and Arthur, looking to the younger boy for confirmation. Ezra nodded and the man made a beeline to the Shelby's.

Moving Charlotte to stand behind him, Arthur readied himself for an altercation. "Something I can help you with, mate?" The way Arthur spat the word 'mate' made it very clear it was not a term of endearment. Still continuing his walk toward them, the man held up his hands in surrender. "You Shelby?"

Still on the defence Arthur responded, "Who's asking?"

The man held out his hand, "Theo Brown. These are my nephews, Ephram and Ezra." Arthur shook his extended hand as Theo continued, "Ezra here came home from school yesterday beat to bloody hell. He says a girl named Shelby helped him out. I'm just here to invite the little devil that saved his life to dinner with our family. You her father? You're more than welcome to–"

Clearing his throat Arthur interrupted, "Brother."

Seemingly unsurprised Theo adjusted his invitation, "Well, any brother of little Shelby here is more than welcome to join my family for dinner tonight."

Giggling at the man's mistake Charlotte stepped out from behind Arthur's legs and held out a hand to the man, "I'm Charlotte Shelby. You can call me Charlie." Reaching down the man shook her hand, "Pleased to meet you Miss Shelby. If it's alright with your father or brother here, would you like to come to supper with us tonight?"

Looking back at Arthur, she begged, "Can I, Arthur? Please? Please, Arthur? Please?" As she waited for an answer, the school bell rang, signalling that classes would be starting in fifteen minutes. Pushing her toward the building, Arthur told her, "Lemme talk with Theo here, and we'll see what kind of decision we come to."

Looking to his nephews Theo scolded, "Ezra, that girl there saved your beans. You be a gentleman and walk her into the school, proper like." Nodding at his uncle Ezra leaped forward, grabbed Charlotte by the hand and demanded, "Come on! Let's go." Hand in hand they ran giggling into the building, instant friends.


	8. Chapter 8

A Mind to Tear a Soul in Two: Chapter Eight

* * *

"Alright, little Miss Peaky Blinder, what kind of trouble have you been getting into lately?" Grabbing Charlotte around the shoulder, Theo pulled her in closer for a hug.

Acting sly she tried to play off her injuries as a joke, "As you can see — not much." Nearly sighing in relief at his seeming lack of interest in the state of her face, she stretched her body upwards, standing on her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek.

Grinning at her, Theo pushed her into a lounge chair in a playful gesture, "Good to see some things never change. Now, tell me, what have you been writing?" Sitting himself in a chair next to her, he looked expectantly, "Anything good? Anything I get to write some music for with my nephew here?"

"Well, I've got a few things. But nothing to show for it at the moment." Throwing a glare to Ezra and JP, she informed, "I was kidnapped from me home, and dragged half way down the lane before anyone explained to me what was happening. So it's not as if I had the chance to grab my notebook on the way out the door."

Scoffing, Theo turned to the captors, "Boys these days have no manners." Turning back to her, be acted innocent as he explained, "In my time, you at least gave a lady the opportunity to gather her belongings before abducting her from her home."

Jessup couldn't keep the smirk off his face at his retort, "If we had abducted a lady we'd have given her the chance. However, Charlie doesn't fit the bill — sitting here, wearing her brother's old trousers and waistcoat. I don't see a lady, how about you Ez?"

Looking around for something within arms reach to throw, he hand settled on a book as the door to the study opened and a deep voice startled her, "Unhand that book, Charlotte. I'm sure whoever you were about to aim it at reserves it. But my diary does not."

Looking up to Mr. Harlow she gave an innocent grin, "Sorry." Then noticing the instrument in his hands she asked, "You gonna have a go at some music with us?"

Giving her a wink he replied, "As long as you kids behave yourselves and refrain from fighting."

Speaking up once again Theo held up a book, "I got some brand new music in this book. If you think you can keep yourself from throwing it at our Jesse here, I'll let you take a look at it."

Holding up her right hand she made an X motion over her heart with her left, "Cross my heart and hope to die. Now gimme."

The boys gathered around her, reading the music and lyrics together. Flipping through the pages Charlotte stopping every now and then when she found some lyrics she fancied and attempting to hum the notes.

"You find one you like, Charlie girl?" Holding the book up to Theo, she showed him the song she'd settled on. "Yeah, this one."

Leaning over, Theo smiled, "One of my favourites." Grabbing his guitar, he started strumming, explaining the melodies as he went.

When he'd gone through the whole song twice, Mr. Harlow added his fiddle to the mix and Ezra and Charlotte tried to harmonise.

.

"I wish I was a slave to an age-old trade.

Like ridin' around on railcars and working long days.

Lord have mercy on my rough and rowdy ways.

Lord have mercy on my rough and rowdy ways."

.

"Call it one drink too many,

Call it pride of a man.

But it don't make no difference if you sit or you stand.

'Cause they both end in trouble and start with a grin.

Yeah they both end in trouble and start with a grin.

We do it over and over and over again.

We do it over and over and over again."

.

"I know there's California, Oklahoma,

And all of the places I ain't ever been to.

But down in the valley with whiskey rivers,

These are the places you will find me hiding,

These are the places I will always go.

These are the places I will always go."

.

Interrupting the final chorus, Theo instructed, "Charlie, you go high for this last one. Jesse, you match her, and Ez, go down an octave."

Starting up again, Charlotte made eye contact with Ezra, grinning at the lilt and fall of their matching voices.

.

"I am on my way,

I am on my way,

I am on my way back to where I started."

.

"So I wish I was a slave to an age-old trade,

Lord have mercy on my rough and rowdy ways."

.

As they finished up their first song, Theo jumped at his book of American songs, showing them the second he wanted to do. After that he taught them a third. Then a fourth.

As the group continued on and on, Charlotte lost all track of time enjoying the company of her friends and adoptive family. They must've been singing and playing together for over an hour before they were finally informed that the meal was ready.

The entire group was started when they finished their last song and applause began from the doorway. "Wonderful! Wonderful! But, it's time to get washed up. Joe, come help me set the table." Mrs. Harlow waved for her husband to follow as the three teens ran out of the study, headed for the washroom.

As the boys ran ahead of her, Charlotte paused when Theo called to her, "Hey, Charlie, come here for a moment." Moving into the corner of the room he questioned, "Is everything alright at home, Charlie?" His eyes were intense and full of emotion.

Laughing, she tried to keep the conversation light, "Of course. Nothing to worry about here."

Moving to step around him, he stopped her before she could make any progress. "I'm serious, Charlie. Ezra said something terrible had happened. And those lingering bruises on your face tell a very serious story." Taking a breath, he pointed to her neck, "Do I even want to see what's under that bandage?"

Taking a shaky breath, Charlotte shook her head at him. Under no circumstances was she interested in reliving that night with Theo. She loved him like family, but this was not something he needed to involve himself in.

"Theo, it's fine. I got into a fight. But it's all taken care of now."

"You got into a fight? That's all this was?" She nodded at him, hoping he'd drop it, "Bullshit. I don't believe you."

His intensity and glare was making her anxious. Chewing on her lip she searched for a polite way to tell him to fuck off.

"Alright, there was an accident." Looking down she worried her hands, trying to get them to stop shaking. "But everything's been fixed, Tommy's–"

Theo's voice grew dark and his eyes narrowed, "I'm sure Tommy's fixing it. You gonna stand there and tell me that this," He moved his hand, gesturing the length of her body, "Isn't Tommy's fault?"

"No, it's not Tommy's fault." Now she was starting to get angry. "It was my fault. I suck outta the house. I let myself get followed by the copper. I was the one not paying attention. It was me!"

Shouting her last words at him, she could see that he wasn't prepared for her anger. Honestly, she wasn't prepared for it either. Grasping her by the shoulders be pulled her in to him. "Charlie, this life with the peaky blinders isn't any life for you." She shook her head and tried to pull away. Holding her tight he continued on, "You could come here, you know? You could get away from the gambling and fighting. I'm sure Joe could get you a spot in the institute with Ezra. You could have a future–" 

Managing to shove him off of her, she tried to keep her voice level, "Stop it. I know you mean well, but I don't want a life without my family. They're mine and I'm theirs. Bad things happen to everyone, Theo. It was an accident. Leaving my life behind isn't going to make everything better all of a sudden." Finally looking up at him she tried to show him she wasn't angry, "Besides, I don't wanna see you get your pretty face cut up by Arthur. He'd get pretty angry if you up and snatched me away from him."

The smile he gave her didn't quite reach his eyes. He was worried — and suspicious. But she was ready for this conversation to be over. Theo nodded at her and finally stepped aside, finally allowing her to escape his interrogation.

As she headed for the washroom, she tried to loosen up — forget about the drama and have a good time. She was shaken and flustered, and she needed a moment to pull herself together. The boys had finished up and were already roughhousing around near the kitchen. She could hear Mrs. Harlow admonishing them, requesting that plates be pulled out from the cupboards.

Sighing, she took her time washing her hands. Focusing on her fingernails she worked to get any grime that had gathered there out with the perfumed soap that Ezra's mom always kept on hand. As she was focusing on one fingernail at a time, she didn't realise how much time had gone by when JP appeared beside her.

"Hey, whatcha doing in–" His question was cut short when she jumped as his sudden arrival, splashing water and soap all over the walls. "Jesus Christ, Jessup!"

Before she could continue her admonishment, Ezra's voice filtered down the hallway, "Everything Alright down there?"

Charlotte and JP shouted back at the same time, "It's fine!"

Giving her a once over, a look of concern crossed his face, "What's gotten into you?"

Frustrated she started, "Could everyone just leave me alone? Stop asking questions. I'm not interested in going through an integration involving my activities this past month. So can you just stop?" As her voice raised emphasising her frustration, JP held up his hands in defence.

"I got it. No more questions." Then moving further into the washroom, he began to close the door after calling down the hall, "Ezra, give us a second. We'll be right there."

Looking to him, confused at his actions, Charlotte questioned, "What are you doing? It's time to eat."

"Nothing. Just hear me out ok?" Nodding, she gave him permission to continue. "You're panicking, yeah? Stressing about nothing. Tell me, what's there to be worried about?"

Shrugging her shoulders, she explained, "It's me first time out, and I'm just a little stressed. I've been on me own for a few weeks now with only my family and the blinders around."

"Right. I get that." He began fishing around in his pockets, "Now don't freak out, yeah?" Giving him a suspicious glare, he continued without waiting for a signal from her. Finally finding what he'd been searching for in his pocket, he pulled out a vial matching the one he'd left in her room earlier that day. 'Why don't you just try a little of this, eh? It's not all bad. I'll do it with you."

Growing stern she started in on him, "We've talked about this, Jess. I don't think–"

"Right now is the perfect time. Your brothers aren't around. I'm here with you. If you end up not feeling well, Ezra's mom will just let you lie down for a bit — just like she always does. It'll help, Charlie, I swear."

Continuing to glare at him, he waited to see if she'd budge before he continued on with his pitch, "You gonna live a little, eh? Or are you gonna let Tommy lock you up in some castle like a perfect princess? You're a Shelby too. You've gotta right to have a little fun too."

Not moving, she thought it over in her head. He did have a point — her brothers could go out and cause all the damage they wanted, but she wasn't allowed a smoke or even a whiskey without permission. She was expected to be this perfect upstanding citizen while everyone else was drinking, fighting, and philandering their way around Birmingham.

Looking at his expectant face she gave in to his begging, "Alright. But just a little."

"Yes, of course." Grinning at her like a child he stuck he started rattling off instructions, "Here, put out your finger, like this," holding out his own finger he deposited a small amount of the white powder, no bigger than her fingernail, onto both of their index fingers. "Then bring it up, and sniff deep and fast. Like this, watch." Demonstrating, he lifted his finger to his nosed and inhaled. Exhaling he smiled and looked to her, waiting patiently for her to follow his instructions.

Taking a deep breath she raised an eyebrow and toasted, "cheers, mate." Then followed suit, bringing the powder to her nose.

Shaking her head at the instant feeling, her eyes watered, and the roof of her mouth felt numb.

Blinking away the involuntary tears, she felt instantly focused. Looking to JP he asked, "You ok?" Cracking a grin she laughed, "Actually, yes. I feel great. Like I could go riding all night."

Leaning forward, he wiped a bit of powder away from her lip telling her, "How about we stick to dinner for now, and save the riding for some other time."

"Absolutely. Dinner. That sounds great. Let's eat!"

"Hold on, calm down. Take a breath. You wanna act normal, right?"

Taking in a deep breath she exhaled slowly, "Shit, that's some stuff. I get it now though, I can see why Tommy uses it. Arthur's always depressed too, I'm sure this helps them deal with everything from the war. I mean, really, it's–"

Cutting her off, JP grabbed her hand, "You gotta focus, yeah? Don't think about those brothers of yours. Just focus on what's happening around you, and you'll be fine."

Shaking her head, she announced, "Yeah, got it. Alright. Am I ok? I feel good."

"You look good. Let's go, Charlie girl."

Sitting down to dinner, Charlotte couldn't believe the feeling that was coursing through her. She felt sharp. She felt happy. She felt confident. And most importantly she wasn't stressed or anxious. She hadn't felt this way since before the attack.

As the dinner went on, she chose to refrain from being part of the conversation. She wanted to just sit and listen to Theo's adventures across the pond. He'd been living over there for a few years now, helping to expand their father's business. The Brown Family was part of a shoe empire in London, and years ago Theo's father had gotten it in his head to take the business to America.

It had seemingly worked well for the titan of industry. Theo always seemed to bring back good news, and now it seemed his father was passing the reins of the American business off to his son. "That is wonderful news, Teddy! I'm so proud of you." As Mrs. Harlow beamed at her brother she raised her glass, "To Teddy!" The rest of the table followed suit, raising their own glasses and repeating the toast. Sipping on their glasses Theo thanked the table, "Cheers to you all."

As the group finished their drinks, Mrs. Harlow announced she wanted a private performance. "After cooking that meal for all of you, I would like a very special performance of all my favourite people."

"I think we might be able to work something out, give us a moment to discuss amongst ourselves." Ezra threw his mother a sly grin, and led his friends and uncle to the sitting room. Rounding on them once the door was shut he announced, "I think we should do the one Charlie wrote last year. The one about your brothers and my parents? Theo, you helped us with it a bit last time you were here."

Still feeling the high of the cocaine Charlie was more than happy to agree. "Yeah! We've never been able to sing that one at the Commons before. This would be perfect."

Theo nodded his head, also happy to agree to that particular song. "That'll be brilliant. I'll grab your parents." Heading back into the kitchen to fetch his sister and brother-in-law Charlotte couldn't help but think that it seemed as if he were avoiding her. She wasn't upset anymore about his questioning, it was understandable given that she looked a bit like death warmed over. But she really hoped that he wouldn't hold her refusal to discuss the subject against her.

Stepping back into the sitting room, Theo ushered the two Harlow's to their seats on the sofa. Speaking to his sister Theo set the stage, "Alright Dannie, first up is a special song for you and Joe." Looking back to the group Theo grinned at Charlotte, "I think we should let our very own Charlie girl tell you about how she came to write this one."

Giving her a theatrical gesture Theo waved his arm around in the air and giving her a wink announced, "The stage is yours." Trying not to laugh at his antics, Charlotte explained, "I'm not sure what do say that the lyrics won't already explain, but Ezra and I wrote a lot of this together. Some of it came to me when I let me imagination run wild, dreaming of a life as wonderful as the one you two have created. Imagining that someday it could be us having what you have."

Mrs. Harlow's eyes grew wide at her statement and Ezra had to jump in to continue the explanation, "Not together, Mom. Our lives in the future. She means 'us' as in each of us wants something special like that you've got." Rolling his eyes at her clear disappointment, he admonished, "Mom, we've told you — we're just mates. That's it!"

At the realisation of what she'd said, a barking laugh escaped Charlotte's mouth. All heads turned to her as she quickly covered her mouth, eyes wide in embarrassment.

"Alright. I think that about covers it, eh?" Jessup interrupted, holding out a fiddle to Ezra, "Enough explaining. Charlie, you ready?"

Nodding at him, Jessup started in on the banjo while Ezra and Theo and joined in with the fiddle and guitar, respectively. Swaying along to their music she waited for her turn to join in. The feeling of the high was slightly diminished, but still buzzing through her. It was excellent. When their group normally played at the Commons she needed a glass or two of whiskey to give her the nerve to stand up on stage. She was always anxious and fearful of an audience, but right now — she was confident. Albeit she was standing in front of a significantly smaller audience, but she was confidant nonetheless.

Hearing the final chords before she was to start singing, she closed her eyes and let her voice sound out strong and firm.

.

"I was born to a family of jokers.

Gamblers and smokers, living on the line.

I was raised by strong-headed women.

Men who tested limits, and did a little time"

.

Looking to the married couple, sitting on the sofa, Charlotte tried not to laugh as Ezra's mom giggled, clapping her hands over her mouth embarrassed at her volume. Charlotte knew the first chorus would make her smile — the woman was always going on about the Shelby's and their unlawful life of gambling and smoking. Charlotte knew she was only partially serious, but it gave her something to complain about while cooking, and provided Charlotte with a brilliant opening line in a song dedicated to her second surrogate mother and father.

As Ezra's voice joined in with her own, she opened her eyes, and let their voices blend together.

.

"And it ain't a mystery you fell for me.

We're just two lost souls trying to find our peace.

Love like ours ain't a masterpiece,

It's a good day in the sun."

.

Charlotte tried to not look to the couple they were playing for — they were too distracting. She tried to focus on Theo and Ezra and JP. Dancing and singing with them was quickly becoming the highlight of her month. Which wasn't saying much, given everything that had taken place in the past few weeks. But she was trying to focus on the positive, damn it.

Taking a quick glance to the sofa she saw Mrs. Harlow clasp her hands over her heart and turn to her husband as Charlotte sang the second verse. Mr. Harlow was always saying that marriage wasn't about perfection. Marriage was about hard work and choosing to love the person you were with. He was always rambling on about this "true love" nonsense. "True love and fate are irrational concepts. Love is a choice. Love is work." He'd wag his finger at who ever was listening, continuing on in his theory, "Love isn't some Van Gogh hanging in the National Gallery. It's not something that you finish and then look at fondly for the rest of your life. Love is a day at the circus. It's piling into the carriage and riding out to the fields. It's standing in line, waiting to pay. Love is seeing joy in everyone's eyes when the ringmaster tames a lion! It's riding home, watching the sun set over the hills." He'd then get serious and glare at them, "Love is not a fairytale that can be turned into some movie with Rudolph Valentino. And don't you dare tell yourselves any different."

After his lecture, he'd placate them with some kind of sweet treat and send them on their way — just happy to have a captive audience for his lecture.

Focusing back on her music, Charlotte sang the chorus, closing her eyes and drowning out everything else in the room. Focusing only on the instruments and the boys singing next to her. Jessie and Ezra had wonderful voices on their own, but it truly gave her gooseflesh hearing the three of them sing together.

.

"I was born to love you,

Out where the water is wide.

Make me your country bride.

You'll be my prince of tides.

You were born to heal me,

Under a velvet sky.

Cattails dancing in the light.

We were born to live a long and happy life."

.

The boys' voice drifted off, and she began the next verse all on her own.

.

Folks like us,

We may lie down in darkness.

But we don't lose our sparks; we bring back a good story to tell.

'Cause we grew up around beauty.

Sunsets better than a movie.

We knew it was our appointed duty to love like the world might end,

And to toast to good nights with friends."

.

As they started singing the chorus again, Mr. Harlow dragged his wife to her feel, and the two of them giggling at the silliness of the situation, began to dance.

.

"And it comes to me in waves

Like the shores of Tremadog Bay

Knowing I'm so lucky

Your broken heart could love me."

.

"I was born to love you,

Out where the water is wide.

Make me your country bride.

You'll be my prince of tides.

You were born to heal me,

Under a velvet sky.

Cattails dancing in the light.

We were born to live a long and happy life."

.

Finishing up the song, Charlotte laughed and danced as Mr. Harlow roped an arm around her waist, spinning her as she attempted to sing the final chorus. Finally giving up the attempt to continue singing she fell into the soft next to Mrs. Harlow, both laughing and breathing heavily at having just been spun around in a circle.

Reaching forward, JP held out his hand for Charlotte to grasp and he pulled her to her feet. Handing her a tenor mandola, he gave her a wink and whispered, "Told ya it wouldn't be so bad." Then immediately turning to the rest of the group announced their next song.

The remainder of the night was a blur. Singing and dancing, the whole house was alive with warmth and joy. It wasn't until Charlotte announced she needed a glass of water that Mrs. Harlow noticed the hour, and insisted that Ezra walk her home. "We don't want to make your Aunt or brother's worry now. Get on your way, all of you." Then making sure that they'd all put on their caps, jackets, and scarves, she swept them out the door, insisting that Ezra drop her off and head straight back home.

As she shut the door on them Jessup turned and back walking backwards, "This has been fun, kids. I'll see you both later, yeah?" Nodding in agreement, Charlotte wrapped her arms around her body, attempting to warm herself from the cold night's air. "And Charlie?" Cocking her head at him, she waited for him to continue. "That thing I left at your house earlier — just keep it. I've got plenty more." Then giving them a wave before Charlotte could respond, Jessup turned and ran down the lane, off to his own home in the opposite direction.

Giving her a quizzical look Ezra asked, "What was that about? What did he leave with you?"

"Oh, it's nothing. Just a notebook, that's all." Shrugging he looped his arm through hers and the two headed off through Small Heath in a comfortable silence.

After about fifteen minutes, the pair reached Charlie's yard. Pausing to look through the fence, Charlotte could see Charlie and Curly loading a few boats with boxes. Assuming they were following orders given to them by her brother, she shrugged it off and started to continue the walk back to her home.

"Hey, hold up. Where you going?" Turning around she saw Ezra was still standing at the fence to her Uncle's yard, giving her a questioning look.

"Whadda mean?" Jerking her head in the opposite direction she continued, "Home, Ez. We're walking home."

"Well, yeah. But we're here — at the yard. Don't you wanna take the horses out for a ride?" He was looking at her as if she'd grown a second head. It was rare that the two of them would walk past the yard, this late at night, and not go out on an adventure. It use to be one of her favourite things in the world to do. But now, she had absolutely no interest going back into those stables.

The cold and the wind ripped around her, and she was sobering up quickly as the memories of that night washed over her. She'd strictly avoided seeing her uncle and Curly at all costs, and had absolutely refused to accompany Tommy or John when they'd announced they were taking a walk to the yard.

Not wanting to explain it all to Ezra she pointed at his pocket, "Check your watch. What time is it? Tommy's likely to kill us both if we get back too late."

Scoffing at her, he questioned, "When has that ever stopped you before?"

Getting slightly irritated she defended, "Well, things have recently changed. And I just wanna get home. Besides, your mom's waiting. Let's go!"

Turning on her heel she began to march off in the direction of Watery Lane. Unable to get more than four steps before Ezra was suddenly in front of her, preventing any further forward movement, she sighed and rested her hands on her hips. "What are you on about? Eh? I just wanna go home."

"Come on Charlie. What's wrong with you? Since when have you not wanted to steal a horse on a clear night like this and ride off into the fields, just the two of us? We haven't gone out in months. And it's such a nice–"

Cutting him off she announced, "What's wrong with me? What's wrong is that I killed a man in those stables, Ezra. I shot until the gun was outta bullets and he was slumped over me. Then I sat next to his body covered in his blood all night long." Feeling a tear run down her face she reached up to quickly wipe it away. "I can smell the hay, and the feed, and the damp air from that night laying in me own bed trying to fall asleep."

"I can hear his raspy voice, and the clicking sound the gun made when I ran out of shots. I can hear the scared snorts and whinnies that the horses made all night." Wiping another tear away and finally looked up into Ezra's eyes, "They're smart, ya know? The horses. They're so smart and I know they knew what was happening. And the poor things couldn't do anything — being locked up and all."

Taking a ragged breath she tried to end her ramblings, "So, can we please just go home? I don't want to go into the yard, I don't want to see Curly or Uncle Charlie, I don't want to smell the hay, or ride Annabelle. I just wanna go home."

Staring at her, Ezra was left stunned. Motionless and speechless he tried to find the right words to say in order to respond to her confessions.

Unable to figure anything out after a moment, he simply nodded, took her arm in his, and muttered, "Alright, Charlie. Let's go home."

As they walked along Charlotte heard Ezra clear his throat and try to mumble out a question, "Charlie... Did that copper... Did he..."

Charlotte knew what he was asking, her brother's had attempted to ask the same question. She'd been forced to confess to John late one night staring up at her ceiling, unable to sleep. He'd been sitting at her desk watching over her, reading a book, when she'd finally made her voice known. "John?"

"Lottie?"

"If I tell you something, you promise not to bring it up again?"

Narrowing his eyes at her, he paused before agreeing.

"I also need you to tell the others, just so they'll all stop looking at me with that sad puppy look."

Not fully understanding John questioned, "What's a sad puppy look?"

"You know? The look that you give a puppy when he's sad or hurt. Like, "poor little puppy, he broke his leg."

"Right. I don't think anybody–"

"Cut the shit, John. That's how everyone is looking at me and I want it to stop." Taking a breath she continued, "Nothing happened to me. The copper tried, but he didn't get a chance. Nothing happened, really. So just tell Polly and Arthur and Tommy to leave me alone and stop giving me–"

Cutting her off he finished, "The non-existent sad puppy look?"

"Yes. It exists. You're just too stupid to see it."

After that he'd come around to the side of her bed to tuck her in. Kissing her on the head, he turned off the lamp, and moved to sit by the fire. "I'll tell them Lottie. Just get to sleep, yeah?"

Sighing at the memory she realised she should've tried to make her demands more inclusive. She should've made John tell everyone they know.

Turning to face Ezra, she shook her head at him and whispered a quiet, "No."

Nodding his head, he held her arm tighter as they continued on to Watery Lane.

After confessing her murder to Ezra, Charlotte could feel the effects of the snow had worn off. She was stiff and anxious, and more than anything wanting to get home and into bed without any incident. She assumed Tommy would be home, waiting for her arrival. She hoped Polly had confessed to her part in her absence, and told Tommy to take it easy. After all, Polly hadn't given her a curfew, so none of them could technically be angry with the hour of her return.

Scoffing out loud she corrected her thought process — no technicality would stop Tommy from doing whatever it was he wanted. Whether it was fixing a race or lecturing her for what seemed like hours, Tommy did what he wanted when he wanted.

"What's that?" Ezra asked over her seemingly unprompted noise.

"Eh, it's nothing. Just thinking about whether Tommy's gonna rake me over the coals for coming home at.." Trailing off she motioned to his pocket watch, "What time is it?"

Flicking open the lid to his watch, he exhaled a stressful breath when he informed, "Nearly one in the morning." Placing the timepiece back in his pocket he asked, "Maybe he'll be asleep? You can just sneak in the back way."

Rolling her eyes as they continued to walk Charlotte explained, "Sneaking in only works if he doesn't know I'm gone in the first place. And I can guarantee you, he knows I'm gone." Pausing before continuing, she thought out loud, "Maybe he's out though — I dunno what he was doing today. Maybe Polly's the one waiting up for me. Arthur hasn't been around much lately, Tommy says he's got some kinda cold. And John's probably busy with Esme and the kids. So it could be Polly, not Tommy at all."

"Wishful thinking, eh?"

Nodding her head in agreement of his assessment of her ramblings, she remained quiet as they entered into the industrial part of town. As the noises from workshops and factories filtered down the lane and to their ears, Charlotte's whole body tightened. The juxtaposition of quiet streets of Small Heath and the bursting racket of the workshops set her on edge.

Noticing the change in her body language, Ezra tried to comfort her, "Charlie, it's fine. We're almost there. Look, you can nearly make out the Garrison at the end of the lane there." Pointing down the lane, past the piles of coal and horses anxiously stamping their feet, Ezra could just make out the outline of the pub. "Home is just around the corner."

Hugging her arms tighter around her body she nodded, and wordlessly picked up the pace. Not realising how fast she was actually going, Ezra had to jog to catch up. "Charlie! Can you slow down? Come one. I'm here with you, nothing bad's gonna happen."

As Ezra caught up to her, he reached out a hand grabbing her arm in an effort to slow her down. "Charlie, it's not–" His sentence was cut short as both teens were startled by a gust of coal and oxygen stoked flames bursting from the open furnace of the factory directly next to them. The roar of the fire made his ears ring and after a few seconds Ezra could hear screaming and the shouts of the factory workers getting back to business.

Looking into the factory at the source of the fiery explosion, Ezra was startled to see men standing staring back at him. Turning back around to ask Charlotte what she thought they were looking at, he was shocked to see his friend on the ground, covering her head, screaming as if the sky was falling.

"Oi, mate! I think there's something wrong with your pal there." One of the workers made his way toward them, presumably to see if he could be of assistance.

As Ezra knelt to the ground beside Charlotte he attempted to stop the screaming, "Charlie! Charlie! Look at me! It's alright. It's fine. You're fine!" Reaching forward he grasped her hands that were covering her head and shook them free. Her screams faded as she took in his face, recognising him in the light emanating from the factory.

"Mate, I think you kids need to heading–" As worker had reached the two teens huddled together on the ground, he noticed their ages. Clearly thinking he would be of assistance, he reached down and grabbed Charlotte by the shoulders, attempting to raise her to her feet.

Before the man knew what was happening, Charlotte had lunged at him, tackling him to the soggy ground.

"Get the fuck off of me!" She yelled and screamed as she flailed about, her limbs kicking and punching in every which way. "I'll fucking kill you! Get offa me!"

Afraid of how the factory worker would respond to her attack, Ezra ran forward and hugging Charlotte with both arms in a tight grip, managed to pull her off of him.

Backing up with his hands raised in defence, the man held a smirk on his face, clearly unsure if he wanted to laugh and the skinny kid threatening his death, or haul off and give her a good smack to shut her up.

As Ezra let loose of Charlotte, he was surprised when she moved lunged for him again. Getting ahead of her he caught her in his arms, trying to hold on to her with all his strength. "Charlie, stop. Fucking stop!"

At his screaming in her face, she finally paused her ranting and raving. Looking around them, it was as if she were waking from a dream. "Fuck. Ez. I'm sorry."

Seeing that the situation had calmed down, the factory worker attempted to get involved again. "Hey, kids! You need to get the fuck outta here. Go on — go home."

Rounding on the man, Ezra decided that he'd had enough of this stupid shit, "Hey, mate! I'd back the fuck up if I were you." Taking a step in the burly man's direction he pointed back to Charlotte. "Do you know who that is? The only girl in Small Heath going about in men's trousers." Pausing to see if his description meant anything to the idiot, he continued when his face remained irritated, "That's fucking Charlotte Shelby!" Understanding finally settled in, and the man's eyes went wide, "Unless you want the peaky blinders paying you a visit in the morning, I'd suggest you fuck right off, and leave us both alone."

Leaning around him to get a good look at Charlotte, the man seemed to confirmed Charlotte's identity before nodding and quickly walking away.

Turning back to Charlotte, Ezra took a deep breath before asking, "You good?" Seeming slightly embarrassed she nodded, "Yeah. I'm fine. Just a bit spooked."

"Right. Well then, let's get the fuck away from this place." Then grabbing her arm in his, he continued along the lane toward the Garrison — and the Shelby home.

"Ezra, I'm sorry. Did I hit you? I just went into a blind rage." Her voice was quiet and she refused to look at him. Laughing, he informed, "Christ Charlie, you think I can't take a hit from you? We've been friends for how long now?" Poking her in the side he tried to play off how scared she'd actually made him. "Now that beast of a man back there — I think we scared him right good. He's gonna be looking over his shoulder, waiting for your brothers to show up to have a 'talk' for weeks yet. Don't you worry about me."

Looking up at him out of the corner of her eye she gave him a grin, "Yeah, well, using the Shelby name usually gets that kind of reaction round here."

Finally reaching the Garrison, knowing that number 5 was just a few hundred feet away, Ezra stopped and manoeuvred himself to stand in front of her. "You sure your alright, though? I don't wanna drop you off all scared and shaking and have Tommy take it out on me."

"Yeah. I'm good. Tommy doesn't have to know any of that just happened. Don't you worry. Besides — like I said before — he might not even be home."

"Don't be daft, Charlie. He's gonna know, you best be the one to tell him before the gossip gets around town. I just wanna make sure I'm not the one getting cut — being the messenger and all."

"Shit, you're probably right." Sighing, she knew that the rumours were probably already starting in the factory. It wouldn't be too long before Tommy and the rest of the shop knew what had happened.

"Of course I am. You're the muscle, I'm the brains — remember?"

Rolling her eyes at him, she informed, "You're insufferable, you know that?"

"One could say the same about you, Miss Shelby." Laughing, she gave him a shove as she reached to open the door to number five.

Groaning as the handle rattled, but didn't give in, she looked to him, "You didn't happen to get the keys from Pol when you abducted me, did ya?"

Shaking his head, he reached forward to try the door himself. Taking a step back, he sighed when he encountered the same result.

"You fucking with me, Ez? You think you're gonna magically be able to open the damn door, when I couldn't' do it not three seconds earlier?"

"Jesus Christ, it's not like that. I just wanted to see for myself."

"Right. Because your strong manly arms are so much better at opening things than my weak little girl arms."

Throwing his arms in the air he spat back at her, "Gimme a break–"

Rounding on him, Charlotte interrupted, "Give you a break? How about–"

Her next words were never spoken as the door to the Shelby home was flung open, and Tommy stood there, irritation written across his face.

"Would you two shut up? Quarrelling out in public like an old married couple for the whole lane to hear? Get your asses inside." Reaching out he grabbed the scruff of Charlotte's shirt in one hand, and Ezra's arm in the other. Yanking them inside, he shut the door as the two stumbled into each other.

"Jesus, Tommy, you gotta be like that?" Turning to her brother Charlotte complained as she straightened her collar. "You nearly ripped my shirt in two." Ignoring her, Tommy turned to Ezra, "What do you think you're doing bringing me sister home at two in the morning, Ezra Harlow?"

Hoping to keep her friend out of trouble, Charlotte tried to explain, "Tommy, it's fine. Don't start in–"

Interrupting, Tommy lectured the two teens standing in front of him, "Did I ask you a question, Charlotte?" Not waiting for her to respond, he answered his own question, "No. I did not. I asked Ezra here a question. And I expect him to answer it. So if you'd please shut your mouth, I'd like to hear what he has to say."

Sighing and throwing her arms in the air she turned to sit in the chair at the fire.

"We didn't realise how late it was. My uncle is visiting, and we'd been having such a good time with him, that we just lost track of the time."

Grunting at the explanation, Tommy raised his finger, pointing at him accusingly before asking, "You two make any side trips? Out to the stables or the fields?"

Shaking his head, Ezra replied, "No. I swear. We came right here, no stopping." Then pausing he confessed, "Well, there was a little adventure on the way here, but that wasn't anything–"

Cutting him off, Tommy turned to his sister for an explanation, "An adventure, Charlotte? Explain."

"Fucking hell, it wasn't an adventure. I just got spooked, that's all. There was just a backdraft walking past one of the factories and I got scared." Crossing her arms and pouting, she demanded, "You happy now?"

Nodding, he ended his interrogation of the boy, and making his way to sit on the sofa he told her, "Very." Then pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, he motioned for Ezra to take a seat.

Shaking his head and making his way to the door Ezra informed, "I really can't, Tom. I gotta get home, or my mom's bound to send my uncle out after me. You know how she can be."

Nodding at the boy's excuse for leaving he agreed, "Right you are. Next time though — make sure she's home before the sun's rising, eh?"

Laughing at the exaggeration, Ezra promised he would as he shut the door to their family home and made his way back across town.

As the door closed, Charlotte turned to her brother, "You don't gotta do that. It's embarrassing."

"This might surprise you, Charlie, but I rarely pay any mind to what might displease you on any given day."

"It's not even his fault that I'm home late, you–"

Cutting her off, Tommy started, "Time for bed. I'm not gonna have a row with you over something this trivial." Pointing to the sitting room door, leading into the kitchen he commanded, "Get to bed."

Narrowing her eyes, she paused, debating whether it would be worth her while to argue with him. Clearly she'd taken just a moment too long trying to decide what to do, because Tommy's voice soon demanded, "Fucking hell, Charlie. Either fight me, or go to bed. Don't sit here all night making your mind up." Then pulling a cigarette from his case he informed, "I'd prefer it if you'd just get your ass to bed."

Leaning back in the chair she took a deep breath and blurted out, "I want a holster, Tommy."

Cocking his head at her, he blinked as he took a drag off his cigarette, blowing the smoke toward her, "A holster?" She nodded, but didn't speak. "A gun holster?" She nodded again — still using no words. "You want a fucking gun holster — you better use your words to explain it to me."

Sighing, she leaned forward, looking into the fire. Deciding to be pragmatic about the request she explained, "I want a holster like what John has — one that goes under your waistcoat. It's safer, isn't it? Than carrying around a loaded revolver in my back pocket. Or in the pocket of my jacket, where it could fall out. Don't you think?"

Gazing at her, Charlotte could see the wheels in his head rolling over her proposal. She was slightly surprised when what came from his mouth next had nothing to do with her request. "What happened at the factory just now with Ezra?" Opening her mouth to respond, she wasn't able to get a word out before he was interrupting to clarify, "And if you want this holster, you better tell me something better than, 'it's nothing', eh?"

Leaning back in the chair she growled at him, that was exactly what she'd planned on telling him. Closing her mouth, she chewed on her lip she searching for the right words to explain.

After a minute, she hadn't come up with anything that she felt would appease his need for information while also getting her a step closer to getting her holster. "But it really was nothing, Tom. It was only a misunder–"

"Bullshit. Find a better answer."

Clenching her jaw at his casual controlling command, she rolled her eyes clearly frustrated with him.

Before she was able to provide a more favourable response he was leaning forward in his own chair, "Kid, you better stop rolling those eyes at me."

Refusing to look at him, she instead focused her sight on the fire and explained, "I just got scared, that's all. The backdraft exploded out onto the lane, and it was so loud... Then this guy came running out to see what had happened — I guess I'd screamed — I don't really remember doing it. And he tried to haul me to my feet and I jumped him."

"You jumped him?" She couldn't tell from his question if he was irritated or amused.

Getting slightly defensive she continued, "Yeah, well, I thought he was jumping me. I mean — he did grab me — so he could've been. But everything's fine, Tommy. I promise."

"Jumping a man just for helping doesn't seem fine. What if you'd had your gun and shot him? I'd have a whole different problem on my hands."

"I didn't know he was trying to help!" Tommy raised an eyebrow at her as she shouted her last words at him — clearly questioning if she really wanted to go down this road with him tonight. She didn't. Taking a breath to calm herself she tried again, "I wouldn't have shot him. I just want it to help me feel safer. If I've got the holster then it's easier to reach, and I won't go leaving it anywhere."

Flicking the butt of his finished cigarette into the fire he rose to his feet, gesturing for her to follow suit, "Right. I'll think about it. But right now, it's late. I've been waiting up for you, so let's go to bed."

Nodding at him, she let herself be led up the stairs. As they parted ways at the end of the hall, heading to their respective rooms Tommy called to her, "You know what happens day after, yeah?" Pausing to determine today's date in her mind, noting that it was going on three in the morning, she nodded in response. "Right then. Tomorrow's gonna be busy. I won't be around much. Just keep outta trouble, eh?"

Rolling her eyes at him, she turned and headed into her room, "Sure, Tom."

Pausing when his voice became serious, "Charlotte. I mean it. Say out of trouble for one day." Turning in her doorway to look at him once again she was exasperated, "I said I would, Christ."

"John will be checking in on you, just in case." Then turning his back to her he continued on to his own room.

Desperately wanting to shout at him that she wasn't a child anymore, she instead took a breath and calmly informed, "Tommy, I'm fine. Really. I'll stay here, outta trouble, I promise. I don't need anyone checking up on me."

Dismissing her, he explained, "If I thought there was no one checking up on you, I wouldn't be the calm and collected figure you see standing in front of you. So, please, don't go fighting me on this, eh? I've got enough to worry about. I don't need you getting any harebrained ideas."

"Jesus, you been taking lessons from Pol on how to lay it on thick?"

Ignoring her, he began to close his door, "Night, Charlie girl."

Before he could successfully close the door, Charlotte found a question was flying from her mouth before her brain even recognised she was wanting to ask it, "Wait, Tom! Where's Arthur been?"

Clearly trying to dismiss her, he didn't even open the door back up before explaining, "Went and caught himself a cold. Now go to bed."

"A cold?" She didn't believe it.

"A cold." His voice grew cold and firm.

"Really, Tommy?"

Now he was irritated, opening his door up further, he demanded, "Did I stutter, Charlie?" She was pushing him, she could hear it in his voice.

"No... I just don't believe you." She threw the words at him, clearly accusing and argumentative.

Shaking his head, he growled, "Like I said, Charlie. He's got a cold. I told him to stay away — I don't need you getting sick. He'll show up when he's feeling better. I promise." His voice lightened just a bit toward the end there, and she could hear his exhaustion in his final request, "Please, Charlie, go to bed, eh? Arthur will come by soon, I promise."

Pausing to see if he'd add anything else, she eventually wished him a good night and shut her door, "Right then. Night Tom."

* * *

A/N:

Thank you all for your patience! I've been unsure about this chapter for a week, tweaking little things here and there, and I think I'm just being silly.

I also appreciate every single one of your comments - they make me so very happy. Thank you all so much!

.

The first song can be found by going to youtube and adding "/watch?v=F10czEKuEuM" to the URL (Down In The Valley) - Or by searching youtube for "The Head And The Heart - Down In The Valley (Acoustic)"

The second song is "/watch?v=9v61jyytf2M" (A Long and Happy Life) - Or by searching "A Long and Happy Life - Delta Rae (Acoustic)"


	9. Chapter 9

A Mind to Tear a Soul in Two: Chapter Nine

* * *

"Charlie..."

Someone was calling her name. But the voice seemed so very far away.

"Charlie..."

Her mind was muddled and fuzzy, and her body warm and cozy. Trying to focus was outside her realm of possibility at the moment. Choosing to ignore the noise interrupting her dreams, she turned over and pushed all thoughts away, welcoming the vast emptiness of sleep.

But the noise didn't stop.

"Charlie."

"Charlotte."

She suddenly recognised the voice penetrating her subconscious. Jesus, she wished the woman would leave her be. She'd been up all night tossing and turning, and it seemed as if she'd only just managed to fall asleep. And now her devil of an aunt was trying to pull her out of her dreams and into the reality of morning.

"No. Lemme be." Whining out her demands she covered her face with a pillow and willed the voice of her aunt to let her sleep.

Grabbing the quilts covering her niece, Polly took a firm hold and yanked the warmth onto the floor. Her voice brooked no insolence, "Charlotte Shelby, wake up this instant."

As the cold rushed over her body, Charlotte's eyes flew open to see Polly standing above her, a mocking smile plastered across her face. It was unnerving.

"Oh good. You're awake." Polly's fake cheery voice set her on edge. "Wake up. Get dressed. We've got business to tend to."

Curling into a ball in an attempt to stay warm, Charlotte whined out, "What time is it? It's too early."

Ignoring the question, her aunt moved to retrieve trousers and an old shirt from the wardrobe. Plucking the items from their home she threw what she'd chosen to her niece and informed, "Get up. We've got quite the day ahead of us and there are visitors are here to see you."

Wincing as the clothing items fell across her chilled form, Charlotte reached over the bed, stretching her arm down attempting to grasp the blankets that had just been violently stolen from her sleeping body. "If it's the lads, Pol — send 'em home. I'm not interested–"

Cutting her off Polly informed, "You're brother has called a family meeting."

Scoffing, she told her aunt, "Tell him to stuff it."

If there had been anything worth meeting about, she would've heard about it by now. She much felt that her time was better spent sleeping rather than listening to Tommy go on and on about whatever it was he'd set his fancy to this day.

Rolling her eyes at the childish behaviour, Polly returned to Charlotte's bed, demanding, "Get your scrawny ass outta bed and downstairs for breakfast." Then reaching down, took hold of Charlotte by the ear and hauled her to her feet.

Screeching over the unjustness of pulling her from a warm bed and suffering abuse so early in the morning, Charlotte finally took the hint that Polly wasn't going anywhere until she was fully dressed and making her way to breakfast.

"Christ almighty, Aunt Pol — I'm up!" Wrenching free of the woman's hold she asked, "What are you doing here so early anyway?" Moving to get dressed in front of the warm fire, Charlotte worked to button up her shirt while questioning her aunt.

"Never you mind. Get dressed, there's food downstairs."

Sighing at the woman's ability to never fully answer a question, she tried again, "Well, what's this meeting about–"

Her question was cut off by a wail so piercing it nearly cracked the teacup sitting on her mantle. Wincing as the noise settled Charlotte questioned, "What in the bloody hell was that?"

Grinning like a fool and giving her a wink, Polly beckoned her down stairs, "Why don't you come find out?"

Complaining and grumbling under her breath as she made her way after Polly, Charlotte was unprepared for the sight that greeted her at the kitchen table.

"Ada? What the hell are you doing home?"

Scoffing and rolling her eyes, Ada mocked Charlotte's not so warm welcome, "Good morning to you too, Charlie." Continuing on she teased, "It's so nice to see you after all this time — I'm sure you've missed me more than I've missed you."

Giving both of them a warning look Polly chided, "You two be nice. The fire's gone out in the sitting room. You think you two can keep it together while I take care of that?"

The sisters nodded and Polly shuffled off to tend to the morning fire.

"I've missed you, Ada. You can trust me on that one." Tearing off a piece of bread and shoving it into her mouth, Charlotte continued, "It's not been a walk in the park being the only one here for Tommy to mother like some hen. He's a right pain in my ass — all the bloody time."

Absentmindedly her sister scolded her, "Swallow your food before you yammer on." Then looking down to the bundle in her arms Ada added, "And don't curse in front of your nephew." Bouncing the baby in her grasp Ada tilted the child so that her sister could get a better look at him. "This is Karl, by the way."

"He's sweet, Ada." Then adding as an afterthought, "And he's got a set of lungs on him." Reaching forward Charlotte held out her finger for Karl to take hold of. Grasping the finger he immediately brought it to his mouth, intent on covering the finger in drool.

"Yes, well, baby's are like that. Now, what's this that Polly's told me about you disappearing and having altercations with a copper? It seems maybe Tommy's got a good reason to worry about you." Just like Ada — straight to the point.

Pulling her finger loose from the baby's grasp, Charlotte wiped the slobber off her hand and indignantly told her sister, "I can take care of myself."

"I've no doubt about that. But it does seem like you might want to be a bit more careful — let Tommy be a mother hen, just a bit."

Rising to pour herself a cup of tea Charlotte informed, "Motherhood's made you soft, Ada."

"The only thing gone soft around here is your brain."

Just as Charlotte opened her mouth to reply to her sister, Karl got the better of both of them. Opening up his own mouth he let out another wail that had Charlotte moving to cover her ears before the newborn could rupture hear inner ear.

At the howl, Polly came hustling back into the room, snatching Karl up, placing a finger into his mouth to silence him, and whisking him away into the sitting room. Ada barely had time to blink, let alone protest the napping of her child from her arms, before Polly was gone.

Laughing at her aunt's antics she took the opportunity to pour herself a cup of tea before making herself comfortable at the table across from Charlotte.

"Why are you here though, Ada? Really?"

Sighing and stretching her arms Ada explained, "Polly came to the flat last night and told me that I needed to be here early this morning."

"Yeah, but she's been trying to get you out of that hole you call a flat for weeks now. Why's today any different?"

"She said that Tommy wants to apologise."

Scoffing Charlotte mumbled, "Not likely." Before Ada continued on.

"Pol said that today's different. She went on and on about how today's suppose special. Everything's gonna change."

As Ada spoke realisation washed over Charlotte — today was December 3rd — Black Star Day. Today was the day that Tommy had told her about. Well, told her about — and then threatened her within an inch of her life to keep his secret.

Polly was right — today was the day that Tommy intended for everything to change. All of his planning and scheming over the past few months all lead to this day.

Apparently her face had changed at the realisation of the significance of today, and Ada's importance in being home, because eventually Ada's voice broke through her thoughts, "Charlie? What is it? Is something wrong?"

"It's nothing... I was just thinking that you'd better keep an eye on Karl — Pol's likely to run off with him."

Scoffing at her, Ada muttered, "Oh nonsense. What's Polly want with a newborn baby?"

"Polly's been anxious to get her hands on that baby of yours for weeks now." Ada rolled her eyes and Charlotte added, "It's been awhile since John's had one — she's got the fever. She needs to hold one and cuddle him or she might just shrivel away."

"How could she shrivel away with you still here to keep her on her toes?" Ada was only half joking, Charlotte could hear it in her voice. Her words were silly, but her voice was serious.

"I just told you — I'm fine. I can take care of myself."

"But are you, Charlie? Are you really? Aunt Polly said that you were bruised and bloodied from head to toe." Then leaning forward she ran her fingers along the pale, partially scabbed scar running the length of her neck. "You've had a very traumatic event happen in the place where you've always felt safest. And I know you, Charles, I know you're gonna try to push it away and move on too soon."

This wasn't something Charlotte was interested in discussing at this hour. Hell, it wasn't something she was interested in discussing period. The boys had all gotten the memo to stay out of it, why couldn't Ada do the same? "You don't know–"

"Yes I do. Tommy and Arthur both did the same thing when Mom died and Da left. They buried it. Tried to act as if nothing had happened, threw themselves into other work." Leaning forward Ada took hold of Charlotte's hands as she searched for the words she needed to help her sister.

"With it being just you and Tommy here in this house, I'm afraid that if you do the same, they'll be no one here to catch you when you collapse. Because you will collapse. It's exhausting all that pretending. You know it is. Polly says–"

"What does Polly say, huh?" Both girls nearly jumped out of their skin when Polly once again made her presence known from the doorway.

Sharply catching her sister's eye, Charlotte tried to convey her need for Ada to shut her damn mouth.

"Nothing." Charlotte nearly sighed in relief at Ada's lie.

"Nothing? You girls are talking about nothing? I highly doubt that." Then mumbling in a sing-song voice she spoke to Karl, "Haven't seen each other in weeks and they expect me to believe they're talking about nothing."

Charlotte tried to ease the older woman's concerns, "Really, Pol — it's nothing. Just catching Ada up on Esme and the boys — that's all."

"Mhmmm." Clearly not believing them she raised an eyebrow and nodded her head for the two sisters to follow her into the front room. "Come on in here, both of you — the conspiratorial liars you are." Then to Karl, "Stinking liars, yes they are. But not you. Nope, not you."

As the two sisters joined their aunt, they were both able to witness Polly stop Karl's crying fit just as it started. Saving their ears from ringing and heads from throbbing, Ada told Polly, "You're much better with him than I am."

Not looking up to Ada, Polly smiled at Karl, cuddling his chubby little cheeks, "He settles quicker with me because he can't smell the milk." Bouncing the baby lightly, Polly settled Karl into his bassinet and Ada moved to look over her son as Charlotte settled herself into the sofa. Wrapping a blanket around herself, Charlotte was surprised at her aunt's next words.

"Mine were terrors for the tit. Both of them." She paused then, clearly lost in her memory before looking up to Ada, "Well, you never knew my children, did you?"

Shaking her head, Ada confirmed Polly's assumption, "No, I was a child myself, then. Charlie here was barely born."

Watching the sad expression fall over her aunt's face Charlotte added, "You never talk about them." This was an understatement. Polly would seemingly go through leaps and bounds to avoid talking about her children or her life with her husband. It was her own personal war — never to be talked about and never to be mentioned by anyone in the family.

"Never had reason to. My heart breaks even when I think about them. But today I do have reason to." Once again, Polly paused in silent retrospect before continuing on, "Sit down, Ada." Motioning to the sofa, she added, "Move over Charlotte. Give your sister room to sit."

Sitting next to each other, the sisters gave each other a weary look. Polly was rarely emotional, and with everything that would be happening today, Charlotte was unsure of how this conversation would end.

Taking a deep breath Polly started in on her story, "They were three and five years old. Sally was three, Michael was five — well two weeks away from being six. It was Sunday morning — I was at church." Pausing, Polly looked to the ground, clearly uncomfortable in remembering this time in her life.

"'You're not forgiven.' This pinch-faced bitch said to me, 'You're not forgiven.' You see, some sheets I washed and hung on the line had the name of a hotel on them. They'd been stolen in a robbery, and they said some porter at the hotel had been coshed."

"And a woman from round here told the police about the sheets — jealous, you see, of the new sheets. And when the police came, they found a spirit still for making a few drops of gin." Watching her aunt, Charlotte was frozen in place. She'd never seen this side of her before. She was always so tough and serious, their Aunt Pol. But now, as she told this old tale, her face dissolved into anguish.

"And for that..." Pausing to find her words Polly began to tear up. "They took my children from me. And they never told me where they took them. And they did it because they could. And because I was weak. But they will never take your baby away from you." Then turning to Charlotte she added, "They will never take you away from me, either." Her tears fell from her face as she struggled to keep her composure.

"Do you know why? Because Tommy wouldn't let them. Because Tommy won't let them walk all over us." Wiping the tears swiftly away, Polly voice grew firm and fierce. "Now it is Tommy who has given strength and power to this family. Because he knows — you have to be as bad as them above in order to survive." There it is. There's Polly's point. Her grand plan in making her family whole again. Polly brought Ada in an effort to make her understand what Tommy was doing for their family.

Looking to Ada, Charlotte grew nervous at the anger showing on her sister's face. Ada still believed that Tommy was at fault for her husband being taken away from her and Karl — whether directly or not. Charlotte had seen Ada and Tommy go toe to toe over the years. There had been kicking and screaming, cursing and shattering of glass, but they'd always managed to patch things up in the end. Ada could never stay mad at him for too long, and Tommy would always forgive her for whatever nonsense she'd brought upon him. But this was different. Ada was different.

"I'm telling you this because I want you to forgive him." Polly was really going all in here, pulling on every emotional string she could think of in effort to stitch this family back together.

Ada immediately spit back at Polly, "How can I? When my Freddie's rotting in jail because of him."

"There's something about today you need to know." Charlotte tried to remain as still as humanly possible. She didn't want to draw attention to herself to break Polly's concentration or cause the older woman to think better of sharing whatever secret it was that Tommy had confided in their aunt in front of her.

Ada clearly didn't want to put too much weight in Polly's faith in their brother, "Yeah? And what's that Pol? Tommy got some big plan?"

"At this very moment Freddie is being transferred–"

Ada's eyes grew wide. She was scared and excited. All of a sudden her emotions were bubbling out of her, "What? Transferred where?"

"Nowhere. He'll be picked up along the way and brought back here to you. Where you two are free to leave this city and make a life for your own wherever you want."

Ada rose to her feet. Walking to Karl she looked down at her son and burst into tears. "Truly? Are you telling me the truth? I need him, Pol. I need him." Taking a shuddering breath she added, "I can't do this without him. I'm not as strong as you."

Rising to her own feet Polly went to Ada and engulfed her in a motherly embrace, "Don't you worry, sweetheart. Tommy's going to make it all up to you."

Then making eye contact with Charlotte over Ada's shoulder, Polly shifted her eyes toward the kitchen and mouthed, "Go on."

Rising from the couch with the blanket, Charlotte was only too happy to leave the two emotional women behind. She needed to get ready for the day. Who knows what Tommy's entire plan was, but Charlotte wanted to be ready in case he was to let her have any part in it.

* * *

As the morning waned on, the usual suspects began to filter into the Shelby home and betting shop. Eventually Charlotte found herself sitting at the kitchen table having a chat and drinking tea with Esme and her Aunt, while Ada fed Karl in the sitting room. The women tried not to grow anxious as they waited for the designated hour, and the men needed to get the meeting started.

Hearing the door to the shop slam closed, and voices getting louder, Charlotte rose from her seat to place her cup in the sink adding, "I'm tired of sitting here. Sounds like everyone's in there but us — let's go, yeah?"

Shaking her head and cracking a grin at her niece's restlessness Polly rose to her feet, "Right you are." Nodding to Charlotte and Esme, Polly straightened her shoulders and opened the green doors, "Time to tend to business."

Walking through the green doors, Polly lead the way with Esme trailing behind. Last in line, Charlotte made sure to close them behind her when she heard Tommy's voice above the racket. "Right. Everyone here?" A pause then, "Where's Charlie?" Looking toward the sound of his voice she saw Tommy standing at the front of the room, ready to address the group.

"Here." She called out as she leaned against the doors, intending to make herself comfortable in the spot at the back of the room — away from everyone and the side looks taking in her healing bruises and cuts.

"Come up here next to your brothers — where I can keep an eye on you." Arthur called and the group chuckled. Sighing, she pushed herself away from the doors and made her way through the small group to the front of the room to stand with the rest of the Shelbys. Stuck between Arthur and Scudboat, her brother slung an arm over her shoulder, leaning on her like a railing.

Poking him in the side she laughed at him, "Where've you been, eh?"

Not giving Arthur a chance to respond, Tommy cleared his throat and raised his voice to speak to the small group of family and peaky blinders assembled. "I've brought you all here today because this is the day we replace Billy Kimber. This is the day we become respectable." Turning to her he gave her a wink before continuing on, "The day we join the official National Association of Racecourse Bookmakers. But first we do the dirty work."

Standing in front of the blackboard Tommy spoke and waved his cigarette around as if he were the bloody King of England. "We've all known it's been coming. I just haven't told anyone the date." Then turning to the board he looked to the empty chalk layout of races, bets, and winnings before he announced, "We're going to the Worcester races."

Turning back around to make sure everyone in the room was still paying attention he continued, "The track opens at one, we get there at two. Now, Kimber thinks we're going there to help him fight the Lee brothers. But thanks to the efforts of our John, and his lovely new wife Esme, the Lees are now our kin." Taking a moment to smirk at John, Tommy informed the group of the embarrassing scene he'd walked in on just a few hours earlier, "I interrupted those efforts this morning, and I can assure you all, John is making great sacrifices in the cause of peace."

Pausing to let everyone have a laugh at John's expense Tommy soon pushed on with his orders for the day, "So, it'll be us and the Lees against Kimber's boys. We take them out, then leave the bookies. I expect a swift victory which will send a signal all the way to London, that we believe in letting legitimate businesses run peacefully."

Before Tommy could give another order, John questioned, "And, what about Kimber himself?"

"I'll deal with Kimber." It was information — an answer to John's question, but also an order. Tommy was letting everyone know that Kimber was to be left alone for him — and him alone to deal with. "Any other questions?"

"Yes." Polly's voice came from the back of the group, "Does anyone object if I bring a newcomer to the meeting?"

The men looked around the room at each other, clearly confused as to why the matriarch of this business would be introducing a newcomer on such an important day. Before anyone had a chance to question her, Polly was opening the green doors, ushering Ada into the shop, "I'd like to introduce the newest member of the Shelby clan."

Looking around the room, Charlotte could see the men nearly turn into old biddies at the sight of the baby. Arthur began to clap and everyone started to swarm Ada trying to get a look at the bundle in her arms.

"Welcome home, Ada." Tommy's voice to her left was tense.

Ada nodded at Tommy's greeting and looked to the rest of the men, informing them of her son's name in an effort to break the awkward silence that had started to settle. "We named him Karl — after Karl Marx."

The grouped chuckled and Arthur made his way to her, scooping Karl out of her arms and placing his cap on his newest nephew, "Karl bloody Marx? Let me get a look at him. He looks just like me, look."

Presenting Karl and his newest accessory to the group John couldn't help but to take a jab at his brother's expense, "That's his ass that looks like you, Arthur." Ada stood back, watching her brothers have a laugh with her son. Arthur gave an approving grin, "He's all right. He's a Shelby."

Seeing that tensions were lightened, Tommy took his opportunity to make sure things were fixed with his sister, "Well, Ada? Am I forgiven?"

Ada still stood back from Tommy, wanting to hear the confirmation from his mouth before truly believing she'd be getting her husband back, "If what Aunt Polly says is true, you are."

Nodding at her and cracking a grin, he confirmed, "It's true."

At his words, Ada sighed in relief and rushed forward into his arms, "Thank you, Tommy."

Charlotte watched as Ada finally forgave their brother for his part in the drama that had taken place the night of Karl's birth. She hadn't realised how much stress the two of them fighting had actually brought upon them all, but in the seconds since Ada's express forgiveness it seemed as if a curtain had been drawn open, and the sun was able to shine through again.

As Karl began to whine in Arthur's arms Ada and Tommy moved to join the circle of family. "Give him here, Arthur." Ada demanded as Tommy placed a hand on Charlotte's shoulder and motioned for her to follow him to his office, "You. Come with me."

Closing the door behind them, Tommy wasted no time in getting to his point, "You're not coming to the races. You're staying here with Polly and Ada."

Shoulders slouching at the news, Charlotte tried to argue, "But I could be helpful."

"No. You could get in the way." At his admonishment she lowered herself into the chair at his desk, crossing her arms and pouting at him. Shaking his head he made it clear he wouldn't change his mind, "I need to know you're here — safe. This isn't legal business, and it could be dangerous."

Still attempting to argue with him she noted, "It's almost legal business. It's just the races, and you said I can work with the horses–"

Seeing where she was going with her argument he cut her off, "This is absolutely not legal business, and has nothing to do with your role in tending to our horses at Charlie's yard."

Raising an eyebrow he waited to see if she'd argue with him. When she kept her mouth closed he lit up a cigarette, "When today is done, we'll celebrate and have our fun. But tomorrow, we get back to real life." His tone had taken an even more serious note and she questioned his implication.

"What's that supposed to mean — 'real life'?"

Moving to sit in the chair across from her, he took a deep drag from his cigarette before explaining, "School. You're going back to school, Charlotte." Rolling her eyes she tried to get in a word, but he pressed on, "You're going to be getting into a routine — a schedule. School, then the horses at the yard, and then home."

"Tommy, that's a bit much, don't you–"

Speaking over her, he explained, "You have a job to do now, and this business is depending on your to get that job done — I'm depending on you. It's time to grow up and be serious."

He wasn't angry, but he was serious. She didn't want to push him into the angry territory, but she also needed clarification, "And what am I supposed to be doing in this job? You never actually explained this to me."

"You're to do the same thing you've always done — just with less lying and sneaking around."

Scoffing at him she tried to defend herself against his accusations, but she wasn't given the chance before he was speaking over her protestations, continuing on with his lecture.

"You'll be on a schedule, Charlie and Curly will expect you at certain times. But overall, it's what you're already doing with the horses. Groom them, but make note of any bites or scratches, swollen joints, or fleas. Feed them, but pay attention to who's eating how much and when. Stretch them, ride them, exercise them, but make a report when you're finished instead of running off with the lads. It's the same as always, but you've got to pay a bit more attention. Take notes, and report back."

Taking in his information she grew concerned about the idea of being back in the yard, alone with the horses.

Seeing the concern on her face he told her, "Be responsible. Be reliable. And you'll have no problems. Uncle Charlie and Curly will be there to help. And if you go when you're told, you'll never be alone."

She nodded at his instructions, there were several flaws in his plans, but she had no intention of arguing with him at the moment. He was too stressed, and when he got stressed he tended to take it out on whoever it was standing in front of him.

"Prove to me that you can do this, Charlie. Prove to me that you can follow orders. You do this, and the next time it's time to go to the races, maybe I'll have changed me mind."

"Ok, Tom. I got it." Nodding at him, she tried to remain agreeable. "Are we done here? You're yammering on like an insufferable git. Karl's bound to be better company at this point."

Laughing, he made sure to get in the last word, "Everything changes tomorrow, but today, I need you to behave. Stay here with Ada, help her until Freddie gets back."

Then, rising from his chair, he reached out a hand for her to grasp. As they entered back into the shop, Arthur caught sight of the two and announced a change of scenery, "Alright gents! To the Garrison!" A cheer went up as the group grabbed caps, and shrugged on coats.

As the men filed out of the shop, Charlotte locked up behind them, and turning to Ada, she asked, "What now?"

"Now you watch your nephew while I catch a wink of sleep." Yawning, as if to emphasise her point, Ada headed toward the stairs.

"That's dull. Let's at least have a game of cards."

"We can have a game once I get some sleep." Glaring at her, Charlotte was clearly not interested in what Ada was proposing. Sighing before upping the ante Ada added, "You let me sleep, and I'll cover for you next time you wanna go out with that band of yours."

Cocking an eyebrow, Charlotte pushed for more information, "I'm listening..."

"I'll tell Tommy you're helping me with Karl, and you can go to the fields or the commons — wherever you want, I don't give a damn. Just let me have a rest, Charlie."

Giving her sister a grin, Charlotte announced, "Fine. You win. I'll watch your brat for you."

Charlotte ducked under the arm Ada was resting on their rickety banister and ran upstairs to her room. She could hear Polly bellowing from the kitchen that there was no running in the house, but at this point the woman was wasting her breath.

Entering her room, Charlotte immediately moved to stoke the coals in her fire, grinning a minute later as Ada finally made an appearance.

"You're the only brat I see around here."

"Did it take you the whole way up the stairs to come up with that? I know being a mother's made you soft... But did it make you stupid as well?"

Moving to put the poker back in it's home next to the fireplace, Charlotte winced as she felt a whack to the back of her head, "Don't be a little shit — be nice to your sister."

Turning she saw that Polly had apparently made her way up the stairs with Karl's basket just in time to hear Charlotte's comment to Ada.

"I was only teasing."

"Sure you were." Giving Charlotte a glare Polly instructed, "Clear off those books from that chair there — make room for Ada to have a seat."

Sighing at her aunt, Charlotte complained, "Why? She can't do it herself?" Obviously that had been the wrong thing to say, as Polly raised both her hand and her eyebrow.

Quickly darting out of Polly's reach, Charlotte deftly avoided a backhanded smack as she gave in and moved her books out of the way for Ada.

Pursing her lips her aunt gave an insincere "Thank you, Charlotte." Before moving to take Karl from Ada.

Passing off her son to their aunt Ada lowered herself into the overstuffed chair, sighing as she did so.

Letting the new mother relax Polly placed Karl in the basket she'd placed on Charlotte's bed, while Charlotte picked up a book, ready to step back through the looking glass with Alice and her white rabbit.

Not even an hour later, both Karl and Ada had dozed off when Charlotte heard the front door slam shut, and Tommy's voice calling out for Polly.

Storming into the house Tommy looked around to an empty house and shop. Where the fuck were the girls? "Charlie? Ada?"

Racing up the stairs he could hear noises coming from Charlotte's room. Rounding the corner and opening the door he saw Charlotte on her bed playing with Karl in his basket. Ada was sleeping, propped up in a chair by the fire, while Polly read the paper.

Without preamble Tommy began barking orders, "Ada, wake up. You and the baby and Charlie — get into the Bull Ring, where there's lots of people."

Throwing the newspaper to the floor Polly stood, scared at the expression on Tommy's face, "What's going on?"

As he paced the room he began to explain the predicament that the peaky blinders had found themselves in, "Kimber's men are on their way here. It's just us — all the Lees are on their way to Worcester. We're outnumbered." Turning to the wall he threw his fist in anger, yelling, "Fuck!"

Moving to him, Polly placed herself in his personal space, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Who else knew today was the day you were moving on Kimber? You said you kept it a secret. Who else did you tell?"

Standing still, frozen to his spot, Tommy's gaze shifted to meet Charlotte's over their aunt's shoulder. As soon as he'd done so, Polly's head whipped around in time to see the exchange of looks between the two siblings.

"You told your sister?" She was incredulous... and angry? Or was it surprise?

Indignant at the tone her aunt had taken, Charlotte began to defend her honour as an excellent secret keeper. "You don't have to sound so surprised! People tell me things — lots of things."

Stepping around Polly, Tommy strode to her and took hold of her shoulders, "Charlotte? Who did you tell?" Tommy's voice was strained and urgent.

"No one." Shaking her head she looked him dead in the eyes, trying to impress her sincerity upon him, "Honest, Tom. I haven't told a soul." Shrugging her shoulders she added, "I forgot about it until this morning when Pol woke me up." Gazing at him she tried to empress her god's honest truth on him. She hadn't even remembered what today was until this morning, and even if she had — there'd been other things on her mind.

Trying to push down the urge to squirm out from beneath his hold on her, she allowed her brother to take his time in evaluating his trust in her.

Pausing to take in her words, Tommy stared, his thoughts miles away. Finally shaking his head, he told their aunt, "No. It wasn't Charlotte." Then, taking a breath, she watched as his face fell. Charlotte could see the gears turning in his mind. He'd just settled on a realisation. His grip on her shoulders tightened and she couldn't take his pressure any longer, "Tom, your hurting me. Lemme go."

His eyes snapped back to hers and it was as if he were traveling back through time to the present. His eyes flicked to his hands, knuckles now white, holding on to her, as if he hadn't even realised they were standing there together. Finally breaking his contact he turned to Polly, desperation flooding his face.

Coming to her own realisation, Polly continued, "There's only one thing can blind a man as smart as you, Tommy. Love. It was that barmaid."

Still refusing to speak, Tommy clenched his jaw. Anger running through him. But Charlotte could see more emotion there, just below the surface. Was is sorrow? Guilt? There was something else, but she couldn't quite place it.

She knew Tommy hadn't much interest in women since returning from war — he was always too busy with business. But Grace had been different. Grace had found a soft spot in Tommy's heart. He cared for her — to what capacity, Charlotte had been unsure until this very moment.

But seeing the pain across his face, it was clear to her, Tommy was head over heels in it for Grace. She wasn't some whore he'd been visiting like every other man in Small Heath, and the thought that she had betrayed him was sending him spiralling.

Interrupting both of their thoughts Polly told Tommy, "I'll deal with Grace. If you set eyes on her again, you might kill her."

Or fuck her. The thought was surprising, but Charlotte knew it could go either way with Tommy. He wasn't one to half-ass anything in his life. He was all in, one hundred percent of the time.

Charlotte wasn't surprised that her brother had fallen for the pretty Irish blonde that had seemingly fallen from the sky into their little piece of hell not but six months ago. Hell, Charlotte liked the woman too. Polly had never trusted her, claiming that something was off about her, she held secrets, and that put Polly on edge. But Charlotte wasn't one to make her final judgements based on a person's secrets — she was, however, one to finalise her judgment based on a person's traitorous acts toward her family.

Watching her brother, still frozen in place, Charlotte waited for him to make a move.

Startling her in his fierceness he turned to his sisters, pointing his finger at them, and once again demanding, "You two — and the baby — get to the Bull Ring, now. No arguing. Go, now! I've got work to do." With that as his final order, he left. Leaving the women in his life standing to gape at his exit.

Leaving only a moment for reflection on what had just taken place, Polly's voice soon filled the room. "Ada, you heard Tommy. Take Karl and your sister to safety. I'm going to have a conversation with a lying little lass."

Moving to argue, Charlotte started, "But Pol, it's not–"

Rounding on her Polly interrupted, "Shut your mouth, Charlotte. Don't argue." And just like Tommy she was gone. Leaving with an order on her lips. Polly sure knew how to make an exit, leaving the girls speechless.

The sisters stood in silence, waiting for the sound of Polly's retreat from the house before making a move.

At the sound of the closing door Ada started speaking, "Right. Well, fuck that. It's about time us Shelby women took matters into our own hands." Charlotte watched as Ada marched out of her room, down the hall and into her own former sleeping quarters. She could hear her sister talking to herself, moving things around, and generally making a racket.

Marching back to her sister and child, Ada threw a handful of clothes onto Charlotte's bed, ordering, "Get changed. I've got a plan."

Not moving from her place Charlotte argued, "Unless this plan is staying here or moving to the Bull Ring, I'm not interested."

Shock playing on her face, Ada teased, "What's this? Charlie Shelby obeying orders? Why, I never... In all my life, I never thought I'd see the day!"

Unamused by her sister's teasing, Charlotte threw the clothes at Ada.

Catching them, and immediately throwing them back, Ada continued, "Where did my rebellious little sister go? Where's the girl that once filled Arthur's shoes with mud just because he wouldn't let her play with a stick of dynamite? Where's the girl that took off riding after telling Tommy to go fuck himself for padlocking the barn door shut?"

Scoffing at her, Charlotte rebutted, "That girl is tired of getting her ass beat for putting one toe outta line!" Then as an afterthought she added, "You know I got seven licks with the strap and Uncle Charlie made me shovel horse shit every fucking day for a month for breaking that padlock."

"I remember something about that..." Ada's voice trailed off from the other room, clearly not interested in the past woes of an unruly child.

"I'm not seven-years-old anymore, Ada. I'm thirteen! That's thirteen whips, every damn time! And these days Tommy's not gonna let me off with something as easy as shovelling shit with Curly." Waiting for her sister to acknowledge the high stakes she continued, "You know just as well as I do that he's got the bloody strop on a nail by the back door. You wanna know how many times he's used it on me since you've been gone?"

Thinking back, she tried to remember the exact number of times she'd found herself bent at the waist, arms outstretched, palms planted against the shed, head bowed staring at the dirt, counting to thirteen while her brother strapped her backside.

Three times... maybe four. All since Ada had married Freddie. Not a great track record.

Hell, she'd never had a great record when it came to stay out of trouble or following orders. There'd been times throughout her life that she'd made Polly or Tommy so angry that they "needed to cool off" before dealing with her misdeeds. Polly would usually send her to her room while she took her time calming down. But Tommy had discovered something far more embarrassing to punish her with.

Whenever Tommy was at his whit's end with her — when his face would go red and he'd look like he was ready to strangle her right then, in front of God and everyone — he'd hand her a shilling and make her hold it with her nose against the wall until he was ready to deal with her.

He'd march her to his office or the kitchen before forcing her nose to the coin and walking away. Sometimes he'd be gone for five minutes, other times he'd wait nearly an hour before returning. But the rules were always the same: no talking, hands clasped against her back, and if the coin falls it was an extra five minutes with the shilling or five more whips with the strap.

Tommy was kind enough to let her choose the outcome, should the coin clatter to the ground — the fucking saint he was. She usually chose the strap, much preferring to get the punishment over with in as little as a few seconds rather than standing around staring at the wall, in plain view where anyone could see her for an extra five whole minutes.

She could remember the first time he'd forced her to stand with the coin.

Not long after she'd declared Ezra Harlow to be her best and most important friend in the entire world, the two had decided that in order to solidify their friendship, they needed to take a journey together.

In every good book the heroes took a journey to start their adventure, so it made perfect sense that they'd need to embark on a journey themselves. They decided that they'd leave Birmingham early on a Tuesday morning, head for the stone circle at Stonehenge — something that they'd recently learned about in class — and return home that evening.

The many flaws in their plan — that were obvious to anyone but them — had both families out that evening searching the whole of Birmingham for the two runaways.

As the day weighed on, the two six-year-olds found themselves highly disappointed that they hadn't come across their journey's destination by the time their stomachs were rumbling for dinner.

At various times each of them had suggested turning back, and starting their adventure on a different day — maybe with the help of Uncle Theo or John, but each time it was brought up the discussion eventually turned to the fact that a hero never needed help from big brothers or Uncles. So on they continued, determined to make their way to the stone circle.

It was Tommy who'd found them on the outskirts of town, walking hand in hand along the country road that most certainly did not lead south to Salisbury. In fact, the road that they'd set out on would have them arriving in Liverpool in only four days time. She could remember the rigid tone his voice took as he approached them on horseback, "What in the bloody hell do you two think your doing?"

"...Not supposed to curse..." Was the first thing out of Ezra's mouth.

Shushing him Charlotte tried to explain, "Tommy's a grown-up. It's allowed if you're grown."

Arguing back Ezra tried, "That's not what my mother says!" Then crossing his arms he continued on, "She says–"

"Alright, that's enough." Then sliding down off of the horse he instructed, "Charlotte, you get up first." Shaking her head and backing away she tried to explain to her brother, "We're going to the stones. It's an adventure. We can't go back now."

Shaking his head and taking a step in her direction he grabbed her by the waist and heaved her up on to the bare back of the horse. "Now's not the time for arguing, Charlotte." Then turning to Ezra he asked, "Ezra, you ever been on a horse?"

Shaking his head, Ezra stared wide-eyed at the great beast in front of him. "It's nothing to be scared of. You'll sit behind Charlie here, and hold tight to her." After getting both children, then himself situated on the horse, they swiftly turned around and headed back to Small Heath.

At the time of his arrival, Charlotte could tell that Tommy was bothered, but she couldn't understand why. He and Arthur were always going out and having adventures themselves — why couldn't she? That didn't seem fair.

She remembered thinking that the next time her and Ezra headed out for an adventure, they'd need to take a horse with them. It was this brilliant thought of her's that had her breaking her uncle's lock and shouting for Tommy to fuck off straight to hell, the next time her and Ezra decided to go adventuring together.

Returning to Small Heath, the two siblings had delivered Ezra to his worried mother, stabled the horse Tommy had taken from Charlie's yard, then gripping her hand in his, Tommy held tight as they silently made their way to Watery Lane.

Upon entering the house, Polly rushed toward them checking her over for injuries and asking what in the bloody hell she thought she was doing running away from home.

"I wasn't running away, Aunt Polly. I was only adventuring. That's all. I was going to come home, I swear." After taking the time to explain her well thought out plan to her brother and Aunt, Tommy told Polly and Ada to go to bed, and that he'd "deal with" Charlotte.

Walking her into his office he sat her in a chair before he knelt down in front of her and very sternly explained that what she'd done was very bad, and she could never do it again.

In true Charlotte form, she'd crossed her arms and glared back at him. "It wasn't bad, Tommy! It was only an adventure. You go on adventures all the time — I should be able to too."

Not allowing her to whine, he explained, "Six-year-olds are too young for adventures, Charlie. You can't just run away like that, something terrible could've happened to you and we'd all be very sad. Do you understand that?"

Indignant she tried to get him to understand, "But I wasn't running away! I know I'm not supposed to do that... But this wasn't running away."

"Yes it was, Charlie. Just because you call it a different name, doesn't mean that the action itself is any different. If myself or Polly hasn't given you permission to go adventuring, then we don't know where you are. And if we don't know where you are, then it's the same as running away from home."

Getting angry Charlotte tried desperately to explain, "But it's not, Tommy! It's only–"

"Enough." Interrupting her, Tommy had reached his limit of nonsensical arguing with a child. "You're in trouble, Charlotte. And I won't hear another word about it." He then took her firmly by the shoulders, pulled her from her chair, and spun her to face the wall. "You stay here, and think about what I told you: Adventuring is exactly the same as running away."

Indignant, she turned from the wall, stomped her foot and tried to argue with him once again, "But Tom–"

"That's it." Turning her around again he delivered a solid smack to her rear before spinning her back to face him as he lectured, "No more arguing, Charlotte. Do as I say, or your getting another. Do I make myself clear?"

Snivelling at getting walloped and being yelled at, she looked to her feet and nodded. It was then that he reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin before continuing on, "You see this shilling here?" Again she nodded without speaking. "You're going to stay right here without moving and hold this coin to the wall with your nose until I say you don't have to any more. Do you understand me?"

Looking to him, she knew she should just agree to his terms, but this just wasn't fair! "No! Tommy–" Once again her protest was cut short as he spun her around to deliver another smack to her rear. "Ow!" Reaching back she tried to cover herself to prevent another blow from coming her way.

"Are you going to take this coin? Or we need to go out back? That was only two. You've got four more coming your way if you don't do as I say."

Finally understanding that there way no way to get out of this, she nodded and reached for the coin in his hand.

Pulling his hand back he demanded, "Say it, Charlotte."

Mumbling under her breath she replied, "I'll hold it to the wall."

As she reached to take the coin again, he once more pulled his hand back and admonished, "I couldn't hear you. Look at me, and tell me clearly what you're to do with this shilling."

Sighing he looked him squarely in the eye with as much defiance as she could muster told him, "I'm going to hold the damn thing to the wall, until you tell me I can stop. Happy?"

That earned her a third smack, "Drop the attitude, this instant."

He then placed the coin on the wall, holding it up with his finger, and directed her to step forward, replacing his finger with her nose.

As her nose touched made contact with cold piece of metal, Tommy turned to walk away, out of his office.

"What am I–"

Cutting her off, he instructed, "No talking. This is a punishment, Charlotte. Put your hands behind your back, and don't let it fall or you'll be doing this again tomorrow. I'll be back in a few minutes. You stay there and do as your told."

That night she'd held the coin for about five minutes before Tommy returned and sent her to bed. The next time she was forced to hold the coin it dropped and he made her get up early the next morning to hold it again. Eventually he discovered that if he threatened her with an extra thrashing for dropping the coin, she was able to hold it for the entire time he demanded. Strange how it worked that way.

By the time he left for France four years later, they'd gotten into a routine where all he needed to do was name the location and hold out the coin for her to take and she'd generally fall in line, knowing that she'd only get it worse if she argued with him.

Christ almighty her brother was insufferable.

Hearing Ada's voice from the other room, she was torn her from her memory. "Oh, come on Charlie, have a little fun with your big sister? I'll protect you from the big bad boys, I promise."

Remembering the origins of the "the coin" Charlotte thought she'd quite like to prevent herself from having to stare down her nose at a stupid fucking shilling for God knows how long, or be dragged out back for a whipping.

Rolling her eyes Charlotte asked, "I don't get a say in this, do I?"

Giddily Ada told her, "Nope. Now get changed."

She had an eerie feeling that Ada's actions today would have her breathing in the dingy metallic smell of a silver coin sooner rather than later.

Damn it all to hell.

Well, at least it wasn't Polly delivering the punishments anymore. That woman put all of her might behind her swing when she gave them a whipping.

Charlotte could remember the first time Polly had dragged Ada out back for an offence neither of them could remember anymore. The caterwauling that had commenced had made Charlotte promise to always to what Polly ordered, every time she ordered it.

She obviously hadn't been able to keep that promise to herself, but she had pledged to never act like Ada when she found herself at the receiving end of the strap. And to this day Charlotte never yelled or screamed over any thrashing she received. She could take it just as good any any of the boys, and when it was over she'd move along as if she'd only been tickled with a feather.

Sighing she decided to leave the memories behind and focus on getting back to the business at hand. Holding up the clothes Ada had thrown at her Charlotte took a long hard look and balked, "Ada, you've got to be joking! I'm not wearing this."

Picking up Karl and leaving the room Ada shouted at her from the hallway, "Yes. You are. I've got to feed the baby and change a nappy. You get dressed." Then as if to prove her point, Ada added, "I know you wear dresses, when the occasion calls for it. I helped you with a matching pair of shoes. So don't act like you've never worn a dress in your life."

Shouting back Charlotte argued, "I only wear them to the commons — that doesn't count!"

"Yes it does!"

"No it doesn't!" Arguing back and forth like this made Charlotte feel like a kid again — like any moment now Polly would yell up at them to keep it quiet while she was balancing the books. "Those are fancy party dresses. I only wear those so people don't recognise me. Can't be up on stage in trousers if I don't want Tommy and Arthur to find out. That'd get around town fast — the gypsy band with a girl singer wearing trousers and a razor cap."

"I don't care, Charlotte. Put the damn thing on!"

"No, absolutely not! You'll have to knock me unconscious if you wanna get me into this funeral shroud. I'll go along with whatever half-baked plan you've come up with. But I am not wearing this!" Holding up the garment for examination, Charlotte cringed. The dress looked to be fifty years old. Her mother may have worn it to her granny's funeral.

From the other side of the wall she could hear Ada yelling back, "Just put the damn thing on! It's black. You need to be in black."

Wadding the offending dress up in a ball Charlotte threw it in the corner. "I'll wear black. But you'll be seeing me in that dress over my dead body!"

Charlotte smiled as Ada hollered back at her, "Christ almighty, you're insufferable!"

"I think it runs in the family."

Finally giving in, Ada hollered back, "Fine! If you won't wear the dress, wear those women's trousers I bought — not anything you stole from John. And that pretty dark blouse — the one with long sleeves." Yelling through the walls made her absurdly happy, it really was like they were kids again. A house full of Shelby's screaming and hollering at one another over this or that.

"Deal!"

Rummaging around the wardrobe Charlotte looked for the nice clothes that Ada and Aunt Polly had bought her months ago.

Taking her time, she got dressed, and went to get Ada's approval in the room next door. "Alright, Ada. Do I look done up enough for this plan of yours?"

Taking a quick look Ada told her, "You'll do fine, but I'll be the one that makes their heads turn." Holding her arms out and taking a spin, Ada asked, "How do I look?"

"Christ, Ada, who died? The king?" Without answering, and giggling like a schoolgirl, Ada turned to her mirror and examined her outfit again, "And where'd you get that dress?" Ada was draped head to toe in black silk and lace.

"It was mom's. I've got most of her clothes in here." Pointing to her wardrobe, Charlotte walked forward to take a peek. "You know, I've never really looked at your clothes in here. Never had any interest in nicking your things."

Laughing Ada told her, "I guess that should've been a relief to me, but part of me was always upset that you never thought my things were worth stashing away."

"Well, if I known you had all of mom's things, I might've been more inclined." Raising a question eyebrow Ada wasn't convinced. "I wouldn't have worn anything, but I would've wanted to have her things to myself."

Pushing her sister out of the way, Ada grabbed a pair of gloves before informing, "You're a little weasel, you know that?"

"I've heard that somewhere."

"Well, maybe when all this is over and I get my husband back, I'll come back and pick out what I want to keep — and you can go through the rest."

"Or, I can go through here tonight and you'll be stuck with whatever I don't want."

Turning in her, Ada snarled, "Take me things, and I'll cut you. I may be a mother — but I'll still cut you."

Turning back to her mirror, once again acting like a lady, Ada fixed the veil over her hat and pronounced herself ready to go.

"Are you gonna tell me what we're doing?"

Shaking her head Ada instructed, "Help me get Karl wrapped up and in his pram and I'll tell you on the way."

Nearly an hour later the Shelby sisters were out the door, walking down Watery Lane toward the Garrison.

In a last ditch effort to save her hide, Charlotte decided to use the only thing that might actually make Ada stop and think, "What about Freddie? What if he shows up here and we're gone? What he gonna do then?"

Acting as if Charlotte was as simple minded as Curly Ada admonished, "You're an idiot if you think Tommy hasn't recruited my Freddie into whatever harebrained scheme he's come up with."

Shaking her head Charlotte argued, "But, they hate each other! Freddie's not gonna–"

Cutting her off Ada kept striding forward, not even bothering to look her way as she explained, "Those two might hate each other now... But if there's trouble to be had, you better believe they'll be standing side by side ready to go down in a blaze of glory together — like the fools they are."

Damn it. Ada was right.

Resigned to her fate, Charlotte became more and more anxious with every step she took. Ada still hadn't shared her brilliant plan, but the stubborn and set way she was walking told Charlotte that there wasn't any changing her mind at this point.

Ada, walking in front of her sister with her son, called back to Charlotte, "Hurry up, we need to get there before anything happens."

Walking faster, trying to keep up, Charlotte grew more nervous. "Ada... We need to get where before what happens? We're headed right into the fight. We shouldn't be going this way."

In front of her Ada stopped dead in her tracks, causing Charlotte to walk right into her sister's back. Stumbling backwards she nearly fell to the ground before Ada grabbed her uninjured wrist to keep her upright.

With a deathgrip on Charlotte's hand Ada explained, "We're going to stop this fight. You and I, and Karl are going to walk right into that shoot out and stop this shit show before it even starts."

Turning, Ada started walking again. Still grasping firmly to her sister's arm. Through the smog, smoke, and steam from the factories surrounding them Charlotte could hear men's voices.

As the shock of Ada's intentions wore off, Charlotte tried wrestling her wrist free and dug her heels into the ground. "Ada! This is a bad idea! You're going to get us killed. Would you just stop! Ada!"

Pointedly ignoring her, Ada continued forward. Pushing the pram with one hand, Ada held Charlotte's wrist in a vice grip with the other, dragging her sister down the lane.

"If we don't turn back now, we're gonna die! Seriously, Ada. Listen to me! If the gun fight doesn't get the job done, Tommy will see us both in a grave by the time this day is finished." She was only half joking. Tommy might really see them both dead for this stunt. The sisters had both done some stupid things in their lives, but storming into a gun fight, weaponless, with a baby, and expressly against Tommy's orders might very well be the stupid stunt that causes Tommy to lose his goddamned mind on both of them.

"Oh hush. Stop exaggerating — we'll be fine!" And with that pronouncement Ada started walking even faster.

Through the smoke and lingering mist from the recent rain, Charlotte could hear a smattering of voices yelling at one another.

"...let's use proper guns!"

"...Thorne reporting for duty..."

"...being out gunned..."

Holy hell, Ada was knowingly dragging them into the middle of a proper shootout. Ada must've heard the same threats she'd just heard, and yet the woman wasn't slowing in her march toward the chaos.

Still being drug along by the wrist, Charlotte was bewildered at her sister's intention as strange men appeared around them. The men hadn't quite noticed them by the time Ada's voice rang out, "Move! Get out of my way. I said move — MOVE!"

Charlotte couldn't believe what was happening. Karl was screaming, she was panicking, and Ada had clearly lost her marbles. The men around them were confused, unsure as to what was happening as they cleared a path — parting like the red sea.

Looking across the way Charlotte could see shock on the faces of her family. The men were standing, guns still raised straight ahead — slightly wavering at the sight of the two sisters and baby — watching in confusion at the scene Ada was creating before them.

After a few moments of pure consternation Freddie was the first to speak, "Ada... What are you doing?"

Looks like Ada was right. Standing in a line with the Selby men was Freddie Thorne.

The fool was only hours outta jail and already he was already gambling his life away, betting on Tommy to win this race.

What an idiot.

Charlotte was brought back to the scene surrounding her when Ada yelled at her husband to shut up as she pushed the pram into the centre of the fight. Within seconds she'd freed Charlotte's wrist from her grip, and marched her to stand on the other side of Karl. Then — as if there weren't thirty guns all pointed in their direction — she questioned, "I believe you boys call this 'No-Man's Land'?"

Still in utter confusion over his wife's antics Freddie tried again, "Ada?"

Moving along as if this were an everyday occurrence Ada casually lectured, "Shut up and listen–"

"Have you lost your mind?" Freddie was still trying to come to terms with the scene playing out in front of him.

Glaring at him Ada demanded, "I said, shut up and listen!"

Charlotte for her part, stood in shock — equal to that of her brothers — at where she'd found herself. Catching Arthur's eye, he gave her a questioning look. Unable to answer him she gave him an almost imperceptible shake of the head before quickly looking away. Trying to keep her eyes set on Ada, she could feel Tommy's icy glare on the side of her face. Trying not to squirm she planted her feet and resigned herself to being a prop in her sister's grand show.

Charlotte looked on as Ada took a breath and continued lecturing the men around them, "Now, most of you were in France. So you all know what happens next. We've both got brothers here and I've a husband — but you've all got somebody waiting for you. Now, we're wearing black in preparation. I want you to look at us." Pausing for effect, Ada waited before continuing. "I want you all to look at us! Who'll be wearing black for you? Think about them. Think about them right now. And fight if you want to, but that baby ain't moving anywhere." Still overwhelmed at her sisters actions, Charlotte shouldn't have been surprised when Ada raised a hand in her direction, finger pointing directly at her, "That girl there ain't moving. And neither am I."

Confused and baffled at how her sister had just volunteered her to act as a human deterrent in this shootout, she finally looked to Tommy, hoping that he'd have come up with some kind of solution in the short amount of time Ada had been lecturing. Making eye contact with him, she felt her stomach bottom out as his glare grew colder. Watching as he clenched his jaw, she could see the anger and alarm floating just below the surface.

Fuck.

He didn't have a plan, he seemed to be just as scared as she was.

Frightened at the implications of her brother's panic, Charlotte's eyes shifted to meet John's. His own gaze was shifting between herself and Ada, but rather than a lopsided grin she expected to receive from him, she was surprised to find his glare to be even angrier than Tommy's.

She began to sweat as their combined glares bore through her, causing an unprecedented amount of anxiety. Not finding any comfort with John or Tommy, Charlotte decided to deflect the anger being sent her way to Ada — after all, this was all Ada's idea.

It was Ada who'd just volunteered her for the fucking firing squad! This whole game of chicken was Ada's big masterpiece. If they survived this ordeal, she'd have this story to remind Tommy that she wasn't the only one in the family to pull stupid stunts.

Fucking hell.

Ada's stunt was so precarious that any wrong step could send guns blazing on either side of them. If any Shelby tried to back down now, Kimber and his men would smell the weakness and pounce.

As the three of them — Ada, Karl, and herself — stood in a line, acting like a wall between her family and Kimber's men, Charlotte suddenly felt the air shift. Something was changing. The tides were turning. Common sense seemed to be washing over the men like rain.

Holy Jesus, had Ada done it? Had she just prevented a war from taking place in Small Heath?

A voice to her left started up and she looked to see Billy Kimber tell them all, "She's right, you know.

Why should all you men die? It should just be him who's caused it." She felt the smallest bit of relief at his words before the world went to hell.

In the next moment time slowed as Charlotte watched the gangster step forward.

Raising his gun, he fired once. Then twice.

Everything still in slow motion, her attention was splintered into a million different shards as everyone started screaming and shouting.

Tommy fell backwards.

Danny rushed forward.

Another shot was fired.

Ada moved toward her baby.

Charlotte fell to the ground, arms covering her head.

Karl's wailing reached a fever pitch as the sharp sounds of the gunshots ricocheted off the buildings surrounding them.

The peaky men began to shout and scream in a mixed bag of demands and pleas.

"Don't shoot!"

"You're all right, son."

"Tommy!"

"You're all right."

"Charlotte!"

"Ada, move away."

"Don't shoot!"

"Charlie, get down!"

"Hold your guns up!"

Danny fell to the ground, his face landing in a puddle of water only feet in front of her.

Crawling forward to him on her hands and knees, Charlotte found herself immediately soaked in the puddle as she pulled his bleeding body into her lap. Pressing down on the gunshot wound in his chest, she tried to comfort him, "You're a good man, Danny. You're gonna be fine. You'll be just fine — Tommy will make sure of it."

Looking into his eyes she knew her words were lost on him. His eyes were empty, staring blankly into the sky above them.

Unsure what to do now, she took a shuddering breath and looked up for help.

As she looked up, time rushed forward, the movements of the men around her catching up with the sounds ringing in her ears.

Tommy was on his feet, striding forward, gun out. One final shot was fired, and Billy Kimber fell to the ground.

Shouting to be heard above the cacophony of voices, Tommy made his demands clear, "Enough! Kimber and me fought this battle one on one."

The men stood, frozen, guns still pointed at one another, unsure what to do.

"It's over. Go home to your families." As he spoke again, Kimber's men seemed to take heed of his words, grabbing their fallen leader and returning to their vehicles.

The peaky blinders stood still. Refusing to do so much as move a muscle until the last of Kimber's men had loaded themselves into their trucks and rolled off down the lane.

When the last truck disappeared around the bend Tommy finally spoke. Looking to his sister, holding Danny's dead body, Tommy turned to his men, "Scudboat, Curly... Pick him up offa her." Not waiting to see if his order would be followed he began walking forward, alone.

Watching her brother walk away, Charlotte felt as if she were floating through space. Her ears rang, her mind buzzed, and she was uncertain of which way was up. Everything had happened so quickly and she couldn't wrap her head around it.

Still staring after her brother, she suddenly felt herself being jostled. "You gotta let go of him, love." Scudboat was tugging at her arm that was still gripping Danny's shirt, fruitlessly attempting to stop the bleeding.

"Come on love, we got him. You can let go now. Curly and I got him." Looking into Scudboat's face she stared blankly trying to comprehend what it was he was telling her. She heard the words, but she had no clue what they meant — he might as well have been speaking Hungarian.

"Charlie girl?" Turning her head, Curly's face filled her vision. "Charlie girl, we got him now. Just like Tommy said." Smiling up at him she had a strange thought that Curly might be the one person in the entire world that understands her the best. And she might be the one person that understood him the best as well. Everyone underestimated him, thought he was too simple, but not her... She knows him. She knows and understands the fierce strength the man hold in his heart for the people he considers family.

"I think she can't hear... just like before. Before with the copper — in the barn." Curly was talking to Scudboat now.

Suddenly there were hands on her face, and she was once again looking into Scudboats eyes. "Hey there, my girl. Can you hear me?" She could. He was speaking English again. As she focused her vision she nodded and he continued, "You see Curly here? We gotta take Danny now. Just him and me. But we need you to let go of him, love. He's not here anymore, and you gotta let go."

Finally taking heed of the older mans words she let loose of Danny.

As the men took Danny's body from her, Charlotte attempted to swim to the surface of her mind.

Still sitting in the puddle of water, staring at her blood covered hands, images of her murdered copper came to her. She was being weighed down with memories and she felt as if she might be drowning. Trying to force the thoughts from her mind, she refused to let herself suffocate in the emotions of the moment.

Trying to stop the thoughts she told herself this was different. This is was different. This blood on her hands wasn't that of a deranged sexual predator, high on his own power and ego. This was Danny's blood on her hands. Danny was someone she knew. Someone she'd known her whole life. Danny was a good man who didn't deserve to leave this world so soon.

She was confused. How had this happened? How had she ended up once again covered in a man's blood. How was it that Tommy had been shot, and yet Danny was the one dead in the lane? Was this some kind of curse that had been wished upon her?

Lost in her mind, Charlotte nearly jumped out of her skin when Arthur appeared in front of her. Standing there holding out his hand, he told her, "Come on, up you go." Relief flooded through her at the sight of him. Arthur wouldn't let this take hold of her and drag her beneath the surface of her mind.

Taking his offering he hauled her upward and into a smothering hug. "You ok? You hurt anywhere?"

"No. But Danny–"

"Don't you worry about Danny."

"But–"

"He was living on borrowed time, Charlie. We all are." Then pointing toward the Garrison where Curly and Scudboat were walking Danny's body through the doors he added, "Danny had demons. He wasn't meant for this world after the war. He's resting now. It's better for him. Trust me, Charlie."

His final words enraged her. Trust him? How dare he? As the anger surged through her she pushed his body away from hers, intent on giving him a piece of her mind.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Arthur?" He was surprised at the sudden change in her behaviour. Standing in the street he gaped, open mouthed, at her. "You want me to trust you? Why the hell should I?"

"Charlie, what are you on–"

"No! Shut up, Arthur." Clenching her jaw and balling her fists, she tried to keep herself from lunging at him. "Where've you been the past three weeks, huh? Where have you fucking been?" Taking a ragged breath she continued, "You skip town? You take off with Da before he kicked you to the curb?"

Stumbling over his words, Arthur tried to explain, "Charlie... I was... Sick. Didn't Tommy tell you?"

"Am I supposed to believe that? That's a shit excuse." Taking a step away from him she continued on, "I needed you, Arthur. I needed you! And you weren't anywhere to be seen." Looking down to her blood covered hands a strange thought filled her mind, "Was it because I killed him? Are you mad? Are you embarrassed of me?"

Shaking his head he took a step toward her and held his hands out in front of him as if she were a wounded animal, "No, it's not any of that. Why would you think that?"

"Then why? Why'd you leave? Why haven't you come to visit? WHY?" Struggling to keep her tears in she shouted at him to cover her emotions.

He rushed toward her, and for half a second she thought he might throw a punch. Instead he took her by the shoulders and nearly smothered her in his embrace.

"Charlie, I'm so sorry I wasn't there. I'm so sorry." Kissing her on the top of her head, he continued, "I'm not mad or embarrassed, I promise. It was me... it was all me. I was sick, I swear it. I was very ill, and Tommy and I agreed that I couldn't come round to see you until I was better. I couldn't risk you being affected by me being unwell."

Mumbling into his shirt she questioned, "You expect me to believe that?"

"I do — because it's the truth. I wasn't meself. I was ill, and nearly unrecognisable. You can ask John or Polly — they'll tell you the same — I wasn't well enough to see you."

He sounded sincere, but she still wasn't sure if she could trust him, "You promise?"

"Cross me heart and hope to die."

Pulling out from his embraces she sniffled, "I'm sorry. I really thought everyone was lying to me."

"You ain't got any reason to be sorry. I'm just glad that you're doing better. Tommy said you were out with Ezra the other night. That's good — you getting out of the house."

Scoffing at him, she explained, "Well, I wouldn't say I was out with him as much as I'd say Polly let them physically drag me outta the house and down the lane."

"Kidnapped?"

"Kidnapped."

Chuckling at her, he once again pulled her in for a hug, "Well, you should really be more careful, kid. I mean really, what were you and Ada thinking coming into the middle of all of that, huh?"

Pulling out of his embrace her glared at him, "Did it look like I had much of a say in any of that? Fucking hell, Arthur, you have no idea how strong she is."

Chuckling he responded, "No, I guess not. She did have quite a hold on you, didn't she?" As she nodded in agreement, he added, "Kidnapped again."

Rolling her eyes at his terrible joke she allowed him to take her arm in his as they started toward the Garrison.

As they reached the bar they discovered they'd arrived just as Jeremiah rounded the corner, army issued medical bag in hand.

Reaching for the door, he held it open for Charlotte to walk in ahead of both himself and Arthur. "You two ready? Let's get this bullet outta your brother."

As the trio entered the Garrison Jeremiah announced, "Alright, let's get this over with. Tommy, on the table. The rest of you, get ready to help."

As the Shelby siblings made their way across the bar to the booth with Jeremiah, Tommy tried to turn Charlotte away. Pointing from her to the door he started, "No. Absolutely not. You shouldn't even be here in the first place. You walk your ass out that door and straight home. I'll deal with you later."

"Would you shut your fucking mouth for once in your life?" The whole room went silent. She'd never spoken to Tommy this way — at least not in public — for anyone other than Ada or her brothers to hear.

"Excuse me?" Tommy was equally as confused by her sudden change as the rest of the room.

"You heard me. Just shut up. Let Jeremiah do what he needs to in order to save your sorry ass from that bullet stuck in your shoulder."

"Charlotte–"

"Everyone here knows your Tommy fucking Shelby, alright? We all know you're the bloody King of Birmingham. You need to just take a break, stop throwing orders around like we might perish without your word to get us through the day, and just be human for once."

Seeing that this was going to end in some sort of explosion, Arthur tried to interrupt, "What she means to say is–"

"Fuck off Arthur. I'm saying exactly what I mean to say — I don't need some sort of Shelby family translator to explain my words. I'm doing just fine on my own telling our stubborn ass of a brother that he needs to just shut the fuck up — for once in his life — and let someone else be in charge. Everyone here is trying to help one way or another and you're driving us all mad. Ordering everyone around like toy soldiers in your personal army. You're not some Captain or Sergeant, or the bloody King of England, your our god damn brother — act like it!"

Taking a breath she found herself clenching her fists and breathing heavily.

Throughout her rant, Tommy and Charlotte never once stopped glaring at each other. Refusing to be the first to blink, each tried to make the other bend to their will. Under normal circumstances — that being anytime her brother didn't have a bullet lodged in his shoulder — she'd be certain to lose to Tommy. But today, it seemed the Gods were smiling on her.

After a moment of silence, Arthur decided to get involved. Walking forward he silently placed his hand on Tommy's injured shoulder, and squeezed, mildly suggesting that Tommy drop it and let her stay.

Watching Tommy wince in pain under Arthur's pressure may have been the most satisfying moment in her life.

Tommy finally blinked. Moving his cold gaze from Charlotte to Arthur he gave a tight nod before Arthur beckoned Jeremiah to the table where Tommy sat.

Standing by for Jeremiah's instructions, Charlotte's gloating over being allowed to stay was short lived as the medical instrument entered into the hole in Tommy's chest. He lasted all of three seconds before the screaming started. As Jeremiah dug around trying to get ahold of the bullet Charlotte grew nauseous watching her brother's excruciating pain.

Watching Arthur hold Tommy's right side down and John keep his left arm back, Charlotte reconsidered her desire to stay for this. She'd never tell him, but Tommy might've been right on this one.

Jerking her head up Charlotte came to her full attention hearing Arthur yelling at her. "Charlie! Help John!"

Moving to stand next to John she took hold of Tommy's bicep, trying to pull backwards as Jeremiah instructed them, "Hold him still"!

Following his orders Charlotte closed her eyes, focusing on putting all her weight into holding him back.

Screaming as he struggled against his sibling's hold, the men all spoke to Tommy one on top of the other.

"That's it, Tommy, that's it."

"Bite it, Tommy."

"Take it."

"Take it!"

"That's it, lad."

"Come on."

"Come on! That's it."

Suddenly Jeremiah jerked his hand backward. Bringing the tweezers out of the wound, he presented everyone with the bloodied bullet before dropping it into a glass of clear liquor, "There! I still have the knack."

Tommy had stopped screaming at the removal of the bullet and he now sat sweating, breathing heavily as everyone around him seemed to pause, relaxing now that the worst of it was over.

Charlotte was still trying to hold back her nausea as she watched Arthur present Tommy a bottle of rum, "Here have a drink."

She should've known what was going to happen next, but she still felt bile rise up her throat at Tommy's convulsing scream as she watched Arthur take the bottle back from Tommy, ordering, "Alright, deep breath." Before he swiftly poured the burning fluid over the bullet hole.

Pulling the bottle back he set it on the table and announced, "It's done."

At Arthur's pronouncement Charlotte darted from the table, making her way swiftly to the side exit of the pub. Flinging open the door, she wasn't able to take two steps before she was heaving up the contents of her stomach.

Tommy was right. She should've left. She'd never seen anyone she loved in that much pain before.

Straightening herself, she wiped her mouth and moved to return to her family inside the pub.

As the door swung open Arthur was standing there, a glass of water in his hand. "You alright?"

"I'll be fine. That was just... a lot." Nodding at her, he passed her the glass before walking back to join Tommy at the booth.

Drinking her glass of water she made her way to the bar — she needed something much stronger, "Harry, could you pour me whiskey?"

Harry nodded at her before he stilled, his eyes moving to something over her shoulder. "She'll have a mild, Harry."

Ignoring John's voice from behind her she raised her voice, "I'm sorry, Harry, John's mistaken. I'll have a whiskey, please."

John's voice came from behind her again, "Second thought, Harry. Charlotte here will take a water."

Not knowing which Shelby he should take his orders from Harry finally tossed his towel on the bar and walked away from both Charlotte and John.

Round on her brother Charlotte demanded, "What's your problem, eh?" Then pushing off of the bar she moved to walk behind it, intent on pouring herself a drink.

Striding up next to her John ordered, "Don't you fucking dare. Get your ass on the other side of this bar and sit down."

Indignant at his sudden air of high and mightiness, Charlotte rebutted, "Seriously, John. What's your problem? You're not Da and you sure as fuck ain't Tommy, so why don't you walk away and attempt to parent your own children for once in your life?" Moving to grab a glass from under the bar she spat, "Leave me be."

Turning, glass in one hand, she reached up for the Irish whiskey on the upper shelf with the other hand.

Before she knew what was happening she suddenly hissed in pain as a hand came down, squeezing her injured wrist. Unable to hold still from the pain, her glass slipped from her grasp and shattered on the floor.

Looking from her brother to the glass now covering the floor she demanded, "What the fuck, John?"

"I'm sorry about that, but you need to listen to me–"

"No I don't, you bloody lunatic! Get away from me!"

Moving forward she pushed John away from herself, ready to sucker punch his lights out if he tried to touch her again. She saw the fire in his eyes as he readied himself for a fight, but before either could make a move Arthur was there, yelling at both of them.

"What the hell is going on here?"

The two siblings began to speak at the same time, shouting accusations over each other, vying for Arthur's attention.

"Tommy's letting her get away with murder."

"John doesn't know how to mind his own business."

"You're my sister! You are my business!"

"Like hell I am! I don't need you–"

Stepping between the two, Arthur decided to end this argument. "Shut up! Both of you. We're about to pay our respects to our fallen brother, and nobody here needs you two getting into some kind of brawl."

"That's rich." Mumbling to herself Charlotte noted the irony of Arthur calling off a fight.

"Charlotte, shut it." Pointing a menacing finger at her face, he kept his voice stern as he turned to their brother, "John, walk away." Not moving from his spot, John continued to glare at her, readying himself to argue with Arthur. "I said walk away!" Arthur's voice was cold and dangerous — almost like Tommy's.

Finally taking heed of his brother's words, John turned and walked to the other side of the room.

Turning his attention to his sister Arthur pointed out, "Charlie, you're soaked and covered in blood." Then turning to the former proprietor of the pub he questioned, "Harry, you got any spare clothes upstairs?"

Nodding at them, Harry motioned for Charlotte to follow, "Sure do. Why don't you come with me, love? We'll find you some dry clothes. Might be three sizes too big, but they'll be dry."

"Just one second, Harry." Charlotte then reached under the bar for another glass, pulled the Irish whiskey down from the second shelf, and all while glaring at John, poured herself a drink before throwing it back, swallowing in one gulp.

Placing the glass gently on the bar she told him, "Alright Harry, lead the way."

* * *

A/N: Hope you all enjoy the chapter!


	10. Chapter 10

A Mind to Tear a Soul in Two: Chapter Ten

* * *

Following the the barman up the stairs, Charlotte couldn't help but stomp her feet with just a little extra force on each step. "You'll be the death of them, you know that, right?"

Snorting at him, she shook her head, "How's that, Harry?"

"There's nothing worse for any big brother than a pretty sister with a wild spirit. And you my girl — you're making your way through Birmingham breaking hearts and bones."

"I don't know about that..." Bones? Sure. Hearts? No thank you.

"Oh trust me, you're giving those boys hell, whether you mean to or not."

"Well, they deserve it."

"You're not wrong there, Charlie girl." Laughing, he lead her down the hall and towards a room just around the corner. As they entered the cold room, Charlotte couldn't help but wonder about the former occupants. Before the war, Harry rented out the rooms above his pub for a fair price. But since the peaky blinders took over Small Heath, the rooms have remained empty.

"Hey Harry, why don't you rent these out anymore?"

"No reason really. I got used to living here all on me own during the war, and I got use to the quiet and privacy."

"Oh, well, that's nice, I guess."

"It also helps that your brothers pay me to store some stuff here every now and then." Turning away from her he added, "Well, used to pay me. I suppose you should be asking Arthur why there's room aren't rented anymore."

Jesus Christ — her goddamned brother's going around town, growing the empire without concern to who gets steamrolled in the process. Taking over Harry's pub without so much as a 'Would ya mind?'

"Oh geez, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to–"

Cutting her off Harry gave her a small smile, "Don't worry about it, Charlie girl. That's absolutely nothing you need to be bothered with."

Frustrated over the arrogance of the Shelby boys, she couldn't stop herself from continuing to rage, "But that's it isn't it? That's the real reason for it all." Scoffing, she threw her hands in the air like a mad person, "My brothers — the reason half of Birmingham does what they do. Either for fear or love of the peaky fucking blinders."

Looking around the room she then noticed a few crates stacked up, labeled 'toitíní'. They seemed to be haphazardly tossed in the corner next to a sagging iron bed and oversized wardrobe. "You didn't want to sell this place, I know it — hell, all of Birmingham knows it. But you did it anyway because Tommy told you, you was gonna sell it to him. And once he told you, that was that. No questions."

Seeing the frenzy she was getting herself worked into, Harry gave a small chuckle before forcibly taking her by the shoulders and moving her to sit on the sagging bed. "Oh, come on now let's see what I've got here that'll fit you." Moving to the wardrobe he began rummaging around sorting through left behind clothes that had gathered over the years, "It goes without saying that a dress is out of the question?"

Laughing at him she informed, "You know, Harry, I don't care what the other's say — I've always said you're brighter than all those peaky men combined."

Rolling his eyes at her joke he turned and presented her with a suitable article of clothing, "Alright little miss peaky blinder, I think that's just about enough outta you. Now, how about this?" Holding up a pair of coveralls he added, "Might be able to fit the entire Russian circus in there, but they won't fall off."

"They'll do. Thanks Harry." Sighing at him, she took a deep breath and tried to let her frustrations float away.

"Anything for you." Then turning to leaving the room — allowing her some privacy — Harry added, "You can see your way back downstairs, yeah? I think I'll have a lie down before the evening rush starts."

Nodding in agreement she made quick work of relieving herself of her bloody and sopping wet trousers, feeling as if things were just a little bit better now that she was dry.

Making her way back downstairs wearing Harry's borrowed circus tent, she was met by Ada and Karl, "What's this going on with you and John now?"

Scoffing at her, Charlotte admitted, "Not a fucking clue. Everything was fine this morning. It's only since your brilliant showdown that he's seemed to take offence to my presence."

A thought crossed over Ada's face and she snorted, "Maybe he never got to finish up after Tommy interrupted him and Esme this morning?"

Making a face, Charlotte balked, "Gross."

Ignoring her disgust, Ada continued, "Well, whatever it is, just stay clear of him until he's able to get it wet again."

"Jesus Ada, could you not?"

Laughing Ada took her arm and ushered her to the small room at the front of the pub, "Come on, everyone's waiting."

Making their way to the snug, Charlotte made sure to squeeze herself in between her uncle and Ada, as far from John's looming glare as she could possibly get.

Once everyone was settled around Danny's prone form, Arthur and Tommy spoke a few words commemorating the passing of their brother in arms. As they finished their speeches, a bottle of rum was passed around and each person was able to toast a salud to their fallen friend.

By the time the bottle had made its way through half of the group, Arthur's voice sliced through the silence again, "Gives us a song, Charlie."

Started at the request, she stared dazed for nearly half a minute before her senses came back to her, "What? Oh, no... I couldn't." Trying to make herself disappear into her Uncle's side she added, "I'm really not even that good."

At this comment, Freddie felt the need to speak up, urging her, "Come on, Charlie, I've heard you sing before. You're better than you let on." Raising his eyebrows at her, Freddie gave her a wink that let her know exactly where he'd seen her singing before.

And in that very moment she'd never been so grateful for the fight between her brother and her sister's husband.

"I've really got to insist, Charlie. I mean, where are any of these men gonna get another chance to hear you singing, eh?" She really wished he'd take Ada and just fuck off. Didn't they have some catching up to do?

Shooting daggers at him she tried to find another way out of singing, nearly entirely sober, in front of her family. "But Tommy's rule–"

At the mention of his rules, Tommy spoke up, "Since when are you suddenly concerned about breaking my rules?" Smirking at her he continued, "Never once bothered you before."

She felt her uncle's hand come down on her shoulder, urging her forward, "Come on, Charlie — do it for Danny."

Sighing at the insistence and pure determination of the group around her, she gave in. There really wasn't any other option. "Fine."

Then pointing to the bottle in Freddie's hand she demanded, "Gimme that and lemme think." Taking a large gulp she winced as she swallowed before taking once more and passing it off to Curly.

Pausing she racked her brain for something that would be suitable for the occasion. "Alright, I got one." As a song came to mind, she closed her eyes and cleared her throat. Trying to push all other thoughts away, she cleared her mind, attempting to imagine herself in an empty room.

.

"I am a poor wayfaring stranger,

While traveling through this world of war.

Yet there's no sickness toil or danger,

In that bright world to which I go."

.

"I'm going there to see my father.

I'm going there no more to roam.

I'm only going over Jordan,

I'm only going over home."

.

"I know dark clouds will gather around me.

I know my way is rough and steep.

It beauty is fields lie just before me,

Where god's redeemed vigil's keep."

.

"I'm going there to see my mother,

She said she need me when i come.

I'm only going over Jordan,

I'm only going over home."

.

Finishing the song that Uncle Theo had taught her, she opened her eyes and stared at her feet waiting for someone else to break to eerie quiet that had settled.

After a moment, the men around her cleared their throats, and she heard Polly mutter an "Amen" before Tommy's voice rang clear, announcing that drinks would be on the house for today. Ready to leave the day's events in the past the group of blinders rushed out of the small room, leaving Charlotte behind, unnoticed.

It wasn't long before nearly all of Small Heath had joined in the celebrations at the Garrison. People were dancing and flirting, Arthur was pouring bottomless drinks, and the men were retelling the harrowing tale of Ada's heroic speech that stayed off an all out war.

Charlotte tried to let herself be consumed in the celebrations, but instead she found herself hiding in the snug keeping Danny company.

She knew that today's outcome was better than anyone could've hoped for — given the circumstances — but the celebrations just didn't feel right. None of this felt right. Everything seemed out of place, as if all the items on the fireplace mantle had been shifted ever so slightly to the left. All the correct items were there, but nothing was exactly as it should be.

So instead of joining in the celebrations, telling tall tales, having a dance, or sneaking glasses of whiskey that on any other day she'd be easily caught red handed, she sat alone in the shadows with a dead man as company.

She'd managed to be left alone for nearly an hour replaying the day's events in her head when inspiration came to her.

Cracking open the window that separated her hideaway from the roar of the bustling pub she was able to snatch a pencil and some sort of diary without anyone being the wiser.

Flipping through the pages to the book she'd grabbed, she discovered that it was one of the books Arthur kept for tracking the shipments coming and going through Uncle Charlie's yard. The book was only half used, and she figured nobody would mind a few missing pages from the back. So, making herself comfortable next to Danny — who'd become a lovely companion for this day — she got to writing down some of the prose that had flitted through her mind.

Scribbling away she'd occasionally speak out loud — as if Danny would respond — testing her words on the air. It was one thing to write a song in a book; it was an entirely different matter to hear the thing out loud.

Mumbling the words out loud without a tune she wasn't quite sure that they felt right. "This is why we fight, why we lay awake, with arms unbound." Taking a moment to let the words hang in the air she made a decision, "No, you're right Danny — that's not it."

Bowing her head to the book, she continued to let the words flow through the pencil until she felt peace with what had developed at her hand.

"Come the war... Come hell... Come attrition." She was developing a tune for the words, "This is why we fight. And when we die, we will die with our arms unbound."

Humming a potential tune to match her words, she thought that she'd better remember it clearly to sing to Ezra next time she got a chance. She'd never been much for writing the music itself, preferring to stick to the lyrics. Ezra had tried to give her some lessons, but in the end it was always him and Johnny putting notes to her words while she sat back and listened to them work.

"How long have you been in here?"

She hadn't heard the door open. She'd been so focused on the words spilling from her mind that she nearly broke the tip of the pencil when she spasmed after hearing Tommy's question.

"Holy hell! Don't do that!"

Turning behind him, he spoke to someone just outside the snug before entering and closing the door behind him.

Standing at the door, he looked to her, shirt covered in his own blood and bandage showing through where Jeremiah had ripped the fabric before instructing him to remove it entirely so he could pull the bullet from his chest. "Well?"

Still trying to calm her breathing from the fright he'd given her she quipped, "Well, what?"

"How long you been here with him?"

Placing the pencil inside the book she was writing in, she tried to close it and slide it beneath the table top unnoticed. "Dunno. A while, I guess."

"Why aren't you out there with everyone else?" He asked in honest curiosity.

Throwing his words back at him she questioned, "Why aren't YOU out there with everyone else?"

Pursing his lips together he nodded in thought, eyes shifting to the ceiling at her remark before conceding, "That's fair."

Then stepping towards her, he pointed to the place where she'd just tried to hide the stolen book, "What do you have there?"

Trying to act dumb she replied, "Hmmm? What?" Maybe he would drop it.

No such luck. Raising an eyebrow he again pointed to the location of the stollen contraband, "What's the book, Charlie?"

"What? Oh... Em... This?" Quickly raising the book she let him have a flash of a look before once again hiding it below the table top. "It's nothing. Really."

"Nothing?" His voice was suspicious.

"Yup." Stay casual. Nothing to see here.

"Well then if it's nothing, why don't you hand it here?"

"Nah... I wouldn't want to waste your time." That was a stupid thing to stay.

"I'm sure I might be more interested than you give me credit for." He kept his voice light and casual, matching her tone, as if they were playing some game.

"Yeah... Well... You should just trust me on this one. I'm your sister — I know the types of things that keep your interest, and this isn't really one of them." That was never gonna work. She knew it the second the words left her mouth.

"Is that so?" He wasn't gonna let up.

"Yup." She was just digging herself a hole.

"Well, I'm your brother and I know the types of things that you like to hide from me. And those things are generally subjects that I find extremely worthy of my interest." Damn it.

One last try, "I don't think–"

"Give it here, Charlie." His tone had changed from a soft formal joking to a cold calculated demand. He wasn't playing her game anymore. She knew it was generally not in her best interest to argue with him when his mood changed so quickly like this.

Sighing at him she gave in, "Fine," and pulling the book out from beneath the table she thrust it in his direction, "Here."

Once it was in his hands he admonished, "This is Arthur's."

"Good detective skills you got there. You ever considered turning away from your life of crime and debauchery? You'd make one hell of a copper." Distract him with her smartass attitude and maybe he'd ignore the book.

Bending his head, he flipped through the pages of the book he'd just confiscated. At her comment his eyes blinked up, giving her a glare without ever moving his neck — almost daring her to say something else.

He knew what she was doing; he would not be distracted.

Returning his eyes to the pages he pointedly ignored her smartass reply, "What are you doing with this? This isn't legal business, Charlie. You need to stay out of it." Continuing to flip through the pages he didn't bother looking up at her as he issued his command.

"I wasn't looking at the shipments. I just needed the paper. That's all."

Finally turning to the page where the pencil had been stuffed, he read what she wrote out loud, "...And all my life I've been burdened by the dreams I've had now I want to run..." Dragging his finger down the length of the page he reached another line she'd written down.

"...Oh my brother, your wisdom is older than me. Don't you worry about me..."

Turning the page he searched for more. Squinting his eyes, he slightly rotated the book in an attempt to decipher her chicken scratch.

Whenever she scribbled rhymes down she wasn't concerned with her penmanship. It was sloppy at best. Then she'd go through and scratch out words here and there, add in a word that sounded better later, doodle clouds and flowers, and generally just make a ruckus of the paper itself. At the end of the day the whole thing would be mostly illegible.

But that was kinda the point. It wasn't for anyone other than herself.

Snorting an almost laugh, Tommy mumbled a line that caused him to crack a grin.

"...Who gives a damn about the family you come from, no giving up when you're young..."

Hoping that he might be finished, she reached her hand out, wordlessly demanding that he return the book to her. However, his finger drew down the page further, once again finding something interesting to read aloud to her.

"...Now I'm sitting alone, and I'm looking for help. Left here on my own, I'm gonna hurt myself..."

Pausing, he looked from the book to her, then back down to the scribbled words.

"What's all this, Charlie?"

Lowering her hand in defeat she shrugged, "Just rhymes. Only thoughts for now."

"These songs?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Mhhmm..." Grunting at her he turned his face back to the book.

A look of concern crossed his face, "That's all these are? Just thoughts and rhymes for songs."

Exasperated with him she breathed, "Yes." Waiting to see what he'd do she added, "Now, would you stop? Those are private."

"Not so private when you're writing them down in Arthur's shipment diary."

"Yeah, well, I was gonna rip those pages out before anyone saw." Holding her hand out she demanded, "Give it back."

Looking up to her, he cocked an eyebrow.

"Please." It was more of a growl than a proper request.

Closing the book he handed it back, "Make sure this gets back to Arthur when your done with it."

"Sure." Stuffing the book back under the table, she questioned, "But you didn't come in here to read me own words back to me. What is it you want?"

Sighing and motioning to Danny he informed, "We've got to take him now."

"Oh." Her peaceful retreat had to end sometime.

"His family needs a chance to say 'goodbye', Charlie." It wasn't a lecture, just information for her.

"Yeah, I know. It's fine — I'm fine." She knew get words weren't very convincing. But she also knew he wasn't going to question her now. Tommy had other things on his mind — that much was obvious to a blind person.

Nodding to her, Tommy turned back to the door, beckoning Scudboat and Curly in, "Let's get him taken care of now, boys."

Watching as they lifted Danny off of the table and deftly manoeuvred his body out the front doors, Charlotte was surprised to find that she was trailing behind them. She hadn't meant to leave her place in the snug, but now she felt she had to see Danny off.

She looked on as they loaded Danny into the back of the wagon, not really listening as Tommy gave the men orders. Still watching as they finished their conversation, she stood still as Tommy returned to stand next to her, both of them silent as the vehicle barrelled down the lane and out of view.

Once the truck was gone, Tommy turned to her, breaking the calm quiet of the night, "Go back inside, tell Polly I'll be back."

"Where you going?"

Shaking his head he repeated himself, "Go back inside, Charlotte. I'll be back later."

Growling at him she rolled her eyes in despair at his unstoppable demanding nature. "Fine."

"Don't leave the Garrison." More demands.

"Fine." If he wasn't going to tell her what he was going to do, she was going to be as short with him as she could.

"I mean it." His voice became gravely.

"I know you do."

"Charlotte..." It was a warning.

Turning on her heel she began walking away from him, hoping to get in the last word for once, "I said 'fine', Tommy. I'll do it; I'll stay in the Garrison."

This time it was Tommy's turn to shake his head and roll his eyes before striding forward into the shadows of Small Heath, unfinished business consuming his mind.

Back inside the party was still raging on. Standing in the entryway she looked around for her sister. Unfortunately, rather than spotting Ada, she saw John making his way across the floor striding toward her, an angry grimace plastered across his face.

Not wanting another altercation she dove into the crowd hoping to lose him in the chaos. Snaking her way through the crowd that had seemingly tripled since that afternoon she made her way to the back of the room, pausing at the piano to make sure she'd left her brother behind.

As she turned she came face to face with Theo. "Jesus! Don't stand so close, you scared me!" Laughing at the fright he'd given her, he pulled her into him, apologising and giving her a kiss on the head.

Pushing him away she questioned, "When did you get here?"

"Not too long ago. Ezra's over there with the preacher's son getting drinks."

Turning to look across the room she spotted Ezra and Isaiah leaning against the bar, waiting for their pints from Arthur. "So they are. Let's find a seat then, shall we?"

Looking for a suitable place to sit, Charlotte discovered that every damn chair in the place was taken. Turning to a few of the men seated in a booth by the widow she announced, "I think you boys were about finished with this booth, isn't that right?"

Without turning to look at her, one of the men waved her off, "Fuck off."

Refusing to be waved off, Charlotte leaned in, deciding to use her family name to her benefit, "You see, I'm looking for a place to sit with me friends here. And if I can't find a place to sit, I'm likely to leave this pub in search of a better way to spend me time."

Then men at the table grew irritated with her presence, and at her lecture to them, the leader turned red-faced to her, "I said, 'fuck off', girly."

Trying to seem unaffected at his burly anger she continued on as if she hadn't been interrupted, "But I don't think Tommy Shelby would be too happy with the men that let his kid sister go wandering around Small Heath after this day's events, would you?" At the mention of her brother's name, she finally had the men's undivided attention, "So, you were just leaving — isn't that right?"

Finally realising who exactly she was, and what the consequences of their frightful behaviour could entail from her brothers, the leader decided it was in their best interest to obey the scrawny Shelby standing before them. Nodding at her, and with frightened looks on their faces, the men that had once occupied her booth, were now scattered across the pub.

As the men scattered away, Ezra and Isaiah scampered up, pints in hand.

Motioning for them to take a seat Theo marvelled at her authority over the older men, "Would you look at that, boys? So much power in such a little person."

"If you think that's special, you should really stick around longer," Ezra grinned as he inhaled his beer, "If she wanted to, our Charlie girl here could have any man in this place handing over his wallet along with his cap and jacket by the time I'm done with this drink."

Laughing at him, Charlotte pointed out, "Which, at the rate you're going, will be any second now."

"We were told that the drinks were on the house tonight — so what's stopping me?" Well, he's not wrong there.

"Your better judgement?"

Grinning at her he winked, "What's that?"

Rolling his eyes, Isaiah turned to Theo, "Here we go. You better stop them before this becomes an all out, old married couple's argument."

Nodding in agreement Theo started, "Alright you two. Ez — why don't you tell Charlie the news?"

"You tell her. I'm going for another." And he was off. Laughing at his retreat, Charlotte yelled after him, "Get me a whiskey — Irish!" Then looking to Theo, she waited for an explanation.

"Him and that traveler friend of yours have managed to get a time at the Commons for next week. Isn't that great?"

Looking around for any eavesdroppers she hissed at him, "Keep it down. Nobody around here knows about that." Then as an afterthought, she added, "Except for Isaiah here... And Aunt Polly... And Ada... And apparently Freddie." Sighing she continued, "Might not actually be that much of a secret after all."

"What's that?" Ezra had reappeared, her whiskey in one hand and his pint in the other. "The Commons." She muttered to him, "Lots more people know than I originally thought."

Seemingly unworried about the prospect of their secret getting out he told her, "Well, as long as Tommy doesn't know... That's all that matters right?"

Raising her glass to him she nodded, "Right you are." She didn't want to dwell on the potential disasters that lay in her future. Today was weighing on her enough, no need to add anything more to her burden.

As the four clinked their glasses and toasted to nothing, Charlotte's mood began to perk up. Here she was, spending some quality time with her best friend, planning their next gig together. "So when will you be available to practice with us? Monday night we'll be at JP's cousins place. He's letting us use the back room. Johnny's gonna be there, and even Theo's gonna play with us this time."

Turning to Theo she sarcastically questioned, "Theo? You got your heart set on fame on the big stage?"

Rolling his eyes he told them, "More like, got my heart set on getting out of my sister's house for the night!"

Laughing at the implication she told Ezra, "Well, I think I can make it on Monday. Might have to do some sneaking around, but I'll be there."

"Try not to get into too much trouble, Charlie." Uncle Theo gave her a joking glare, but underneath the facade, she knew his warning was serious.

"I never TRY to get into trouble, Theo. It just happens that way. And besides, it looks like Tommy's got his mind set on me going back to school. So I'll have a fair amount of unsupervised time on me hands."

Ezra rolled his eyes, and Isaiah mumbled, "She's gonna get in trouble, alright."

Grinning at him, Charlotte gave him a wink before announcing she was ready for another round. "Big trouble, mate. Big trouble."

* * *

As the evening wound down, and the citizens of Small Heath slowly filtered out of the Garrison headed toward their homes, the Shelby family found that they were still waiting on the return of Tommy.

Ada and Freddie had gone off, promising to come by Watery Lane sometime tomorrow. But that had seemingly been hours ago, and here they sat in the darkness, still waiting for Tommy to return.

"Where's he gone, Pol?"

"I've got an idea, but I'm hoping I'm wrong." Polly voice was filled with concern.

"Grace?" Based on everything that had happened today, it was Charlotte's best guess as to what could possibly have Tommy out this late, with everyone waiting on him.

"Grace."

"Why's that got you all worried?" No response. "Aunt Pol?"

"Because it was real, sweetheart." Polly sounded on the verge of tears.

"...Don't call me that..."

Absently she remembered Charlotte's new aversion to the term. "Oh, yes, love. I'm sorry. Come here." Pulling Charlotte into her, she brought her hand up to cradle her cheek. Rubbing her thumb over a small white scar just above Charlotte's left eyebrow, Polly sighed, smiling down at her. She blinked and a lone tear fell down her face, not bothering to wipe it away, she kissed the top of Charlotte's head, mumbling, "You're a good girl, Charlie, my love."

Uncomfortable with this emotional side of her aunt, Charlotte tired to get Poly to focus on her brother, "But what do you mean, Pol? What was real?"

"The love they shared. It was real. And there's nothing more alluring in our life — living in the underbelly of Birmingham — than something as beautiful and shiny as real mutual love and affection." Sighing, Polly let her hand drop from Charlotte's face. "That brother of yours is torn. He's got to make a decision tonight between his duty and love for us, and his desire for something as beautiful as what Grace can offer him."

"Do you think he'll leave us? Do you think she'd convince him to leave?" The thought that Tommy would leave their family had never occurred to her before. Since the war he seemed to have no interest in anything but the Shelby family business. She supposed it was naive and maybe selfish of her to think that Tommy would never fall in love and move on from their little home on Watery Lane. What would she do without him? The question had never seemed so urgent before.

"I don't know what I think, love." Lighting her cigarette and taking a long drag she added, "But whatever happens, you have us. Don't you ever think otherwise."

"I know, Aunt Pol." Then pulling away she moved toward the back room. "I'm hungry. You want anything?"

"I'm not sure there's much back there to be had."

"There's some biscuits. Unless someone else ate them already." Then disappearing, she returned a moment later triumphant in her biscuit conquest. "Got 'em!"

Holding one out for her Aunt, Polly shook her head and took another drag from her cigarette. Shrugging she moved to sit at a table, determined to enjoy her dinner.

As she sat munching on her minuscule meal Charlotte suddenly felt a presence over right shoulder. Not in the mood for another argument she tried to halt any sort of discussion before it could start, "Fuck off, John. I don't know what's gotten into you, but I'm not interested."

"I don't care what you're interested in." Swallowing air, John tried his damnedest to get his words out, but instead he found he was tripping over every syllable that came out. "You and me– We got business with– With– With your stunt today."

Refusing to turn to face him she quipped, "As you can see, I'm busy with me supper." Then motioning her hand toward Polly she continued, "Why don't you go ahead and see my secretary and she'll be able to make an appointment for you to have this discussion at a later time." Hearing Polly snort from the bar, Charlotte grinned and continued, "Or you can fuck off and leave me alone. Your choice."

Moving around to stand in front of her, John leaned against the table and drunkenly told her, "You– You and me– We're not done... Talking."

"Jesus Christ, you're knackered." Rising from her chair, Charlotte moved to stand next to her aunt at the bar. She knew that John wouldn't try anything too stupid with Polly at her side. "Keep your words to yourself, nobody else here is interested in listening to them. And if you start in on me again, I swear to God I'll knock you flat on your ass."

Swaying on his feet he attempted to threaten her, "I'd like to see you try."

That was laughable, "Everyone here knows I'm a better fighter than you on your best day. So just shut up and finish your pint over there with Arthur."

At the mention of his name Arthur suddenly saw the opportunity toss his hat into the ring, "Would you two shut up? Yammering on and on. You're giving me a headache." Leaning forward he rested his head in his hands and continued mumbling to himself. Fucking hell, these brother's of hers were so drunk that lighting a match would set the place up in flames.

Choosing to ignore his brother, John attempted in bringing himself up to his full height and took a wobbling step in Charlotte's direction. Apparently he thought it a good idea to ready himself for a fight, and in his state, Charlotte would be only too happy to oblige.

Pushing herself off of the bar, she tried to take a step in his direction, only to find herself being shoved into the closet chair by her aunt. "I don't know what's gotten into the two of you, but if either you take one more step in the other's direction I swear to God almighty both of you will regret it."

Pointing a finger in Charlotte's direction she admonished, "You know better." Then turning to John she added, "Sit your ass down in that booth and drink your beer."

Watching as John returned to his pint next to Arthur, Charlotte released the breath she hadn't even realised she'd been holding. This was exhausting, Tommy needed to hurry up. Turning to Polly as she nervously paced up and down the length of the bar, Charlotte whined, "Where the fuck is Tommy, anyway? I wanna go home."

"Hush. We're all waiting here for him to come back. Nobody is going home."

"But, Pol — what if Tommy isn't planning on coming back tonight?"

And as if she'd conjured him like a genie, the man in question suddenly appeared before them. As the set of double doors slammed closed behind him, the sleeping men around the room shifted in their seats at the racket, and Charlotte rose from her table to stand with her aunt at the bar.

From across the room, Arthur and John sleepily raised their glasses and acknowledged their brother's appearance, "There he is."

Rolling her eyes at her nephew's drunken mumblings Polly offered, "Drink?"

Contemplating her offer, Tommy slowly made his way to the bar. As he reached the place where his aunt stood he seemed to have finally made up his mind, "Not whisky."

Motioning with his arm he continued, "If you check behind the bar..." At his words both Polly and Charlotte moved to search the location he'd just pointed out. But before Charlotte could take two steps Tommy's arm was in her way — preventing any further movement. "Not you."

Then pointing to a table in front of him he wordlessly instructed her to take a seat. Sighing as she sat, she heard him continue to Polly, "...You will find a bottle of champagne."

As Polly searched in the dark for the bottle, Charlotte watched her brother closely. Taking a drag from his cigarette he rolled his head back and leaned against the bar — clearly exhausted. His every movement seemed to shout out his pain and suffering from the day's activities.

Closing his eyes, he exhaled deeply before looking in her direction. Raising an eyebrow, he narrowed his gaze — eyeing her as if to question, "What are you looking at?" Shrugging at him in response, both siblings were distracted as Polly placed the found bottle on the bar.

Glaring at the bottle as if it had personally offended her, Polly added, "The one she bought."

Turning to face both Polly and the bottle, he nodded in confirmation of her words, before reaching out and taking hold of the bottle. Staring at it curiously, Charlotte thought for a split second that he might've started to cry. Instead he began to unwrap the cork, speaking low to his aunt as he did so, "Today was a good day." Not looking up from the bottle in his hands, Tommy continued, "All of Kimber's men were busy here, so the Lee boys took all the pitches at the Worcester races."

Turning with the bottle still in hand, he moved toward the booth that John and Arthur still sat in, "It couldn't have gone better if we'd planned it." His words were positive, but his voice held so much sorrow. It made Charlotte uncomfortable, the level of emotion that he was emitting at this moment.

As Tommy made his way to his brothers, he raised his voice, ensuring the drunkard's would be awake for the remainder of his speech. "The Shelby Family Limited is now the third largest legal race track operation in the country."

"Cheers!" Charlotte watched on as the three of them clinked their glasses together. She thought it unlikely that John and Arthur would remember this moment in the morning.

"Only the Sabinis and the Solomons are bigger than us, boys." Turning to walk back toward the bar, Tommy stopped between the table she sat at and the booth the boy's occupied before laughing falsely, adding, "And all my family is here to celebrate."

Looking to her aunt for an explanation over Tommy's surly attitude, Charlotte was given a swift shake of the head and a dark glare that told her to leave it be.

Suddenly all thoughts of Tommy's strange behaviour were gone as he popped the top of the champagne, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin, "To Shelby Family Limited." Raising the overflowing bottle above his head, Tommy smiled sourly as his brother's cheered his toast in return with a smattering of nonsensical salutes,

"Shelby!"

"Family!"

"Cheers."

Bottle still bubbling over, Tommy turned to their aunt — still standing behind the bar — his smile immediately removed from his face, as if it had never been there to begin with. He looked to be a shadow of his regular self. Bloodied and drained he didn't even try to step into the role of the towering figure he normally held. He was broken.

Walking forward he filled up two empty glasses that Polly had placed in front of him, before sighing heavily and resting his head on the table. This was more than exhaustion... This was some kind of emotion she'd never seen on Tommy before. This was unknown...

She watched silently as Polly reached forward to smooth Tommy's head, whispering, "There'll be others."

Raising his head at their aunt's words, stared at her for a long moment before raising the bottle in a toast, "To the others. All of them."

Watching as Tommy turned to look around the room, Charlotte was surprised when he sat at her table, handing over the second glass of champagne. Taking it from him, she was told, "That's it for the night." Nodding at him, she drank from the glass as he reached forward and snatched a biscuit from the package sitting in front of her.

Smirking at him, she drained her glass before resting her head on her arms and closing her eyes, happy to just sit in silence with the majority of her family surrounding her. Her mind slowed and her final thought before the fatigue overcame her was that she felt safe — safer than she'd felt in weeks.

* * *

Tommy wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting in the dark pub house, contemplating Grace's offer when he got the sudden urge for action. Looking around the room at his family — nearly every one of them sleeping in a drunken slumber — he knew he couldn't see Grace again. The temptation was too strong.

In the back of his mind he knew he could never completely close the door on her. He'd never fully be able to say no to her — or yes for that matter. These people here in this room — and Ada and Freddie across town — this was his life. This was what he worked so hard for. Saying yes to Grace meant abandoning them; abandoning everything that he loved and worked so hard for.

But saying no was also an abandonment of everything he wanted for the future. He was torn between his firm knowledge in what he had now in his present, and the possibility of what the future could hold. But what future could he survive without the protection of Arthur and John at his side? Or Charlotte's calculating mind that always provided new and interesting perspectives? Or Ada's all encompassing love that kept them alive? Or Polly's flat out brilliance in everything she set her mind to? He was left with an impossible decision.

Once again looking around the room, Tommy couldn't help but crack a grin at the scene that surrounded him. John and Arthur slept in a booth, five or six empty pint glasses scattered around the table in front of them. The two were slightly snoozing away, leaning against each other like children.

His sister sat in the chair opposite him at the small circular table in the middle of the room. Her head resting on her arms, making small wheezing noises through her nose as she slept.

Uncle Charlie was propped up against the window at the front of the pub, his snores causing small clouds of condensation to form on the cold glass every time he breathed out.

And Polly was at the bar, back against the hard wood of the counter top, arms lounging on either side of herself. Wide awake, smoking a cigarette, and staring at him. She was clearly lost in her own thoughts, but it unnerved him nonetheless.

Clearing his throat he stood and announced, "I'm going to take care of a few last things in the shop, Pol." Pulling a cigarette out and lighting it, he motioned to his sleeping sister, "Will you make sure she gets home tonight? I don't want her sleeping here."

Walking toward the doors he added, "Your room is always there for you as well, if you'd wish to stay."

"Thank you, Thomas. But I'd just as soon sleep in my own bed this night." Sliding away from bar she made her way to him. Placing her hand on the top of his head, she pulled him to her and kissed his cheek. "You're a good man, Thomas. Everything that you've done for these fools..." Sweeping her arm across the pub, she acknowledged the room filled with his family. "They might never know what you've sacrificed today, but you're a good man for doing it for them."

Nodding at her, her tried to leave all sentiments of goodness and humbleness behind. She couldn't know of his wavering faith in himself. "Hmmhm. Thanks, Pol."

Pushing open the door he once again turned and motioned with his cigarette to the girl sleeping in the table, "Pol?"

She looked so small, his baby sister. So peaceful, as if nothing in the whole of the world could bother her. Polly was right, he'd made a sacrifice today for his family. And looking at his sister sleeping on that table he knew he'd do it all over again if need be.

She looked as if she were nine years old again. She looked... She looked... He couldn't quite find the word he was looking for. He could never call her innocent — there wasn't a single day in her life that she wasn't a terror, a demon sent from hell straight to earth with the sole purpose of testing his patience. Maybe just less mischievous than usual.

He knew she'd been having a hard time lately — trying to find her place in all this. And he truly hoped that scheduling her into a routine would help her. She was wild, she was opinionated, she was a force of nature, and he wanted nothing more in the world than for her to succeed. But there were times that he thought he might agree with Polly on Charlie's involvement in this business. Maybe she wasn't made for this life. Maybe she was destined for bigger and better things.

He feared that he might be holding her back. But he also feared that without his guidance and influence she'd lose out on the opportunities that the business might provide.

Breaking through his thoughts, Polly's voice reached him, "You go on, now. Don't worry. I'll wake her and walk her home when I'm finished here." Then as a joke she added, "You know I did manage to keep her alive all those years you were in France."

"That you did. A fine job too, Pol."

Then stepping into the dark night he pulled his jacket tight around himself, shifting his thoughts to Grace.

* * *

"Come on, Charlie. Time to go home."

Once again Charlotte heard the voice of her aunt interrupting her dreams, dragging her back to consciousness.

"Huh?" What was it she wanted this time? She wished her aunt would just let her sleep.

Shaking her shoulders, Polly continued, "Open your eyes. Come on now, Charlie."

Obeying her aunt Charlotte opened her eyes and looking around the room it took her a moment to remember where she was. The Garrison.

Looking to Polly, she questioned, "How long have I been asleep?"

"Not too long, but it's time to go home. Come on, up you go." Reaching under Charlotte's arms Polly heaved Charlotte to her feet, ushering her to the double doors of the pub.

Looking around she noticed her brother was missing, "Where's Tommy?"

"Has some business to finish up in the shop. He wanted to let you sleep." Striding across the room Polly picked up a jacket off of an abandoned chair and handed it to her niece, "Not sure who this belongs to, but it looks like it'll fit."

Shrugging on the jacket, Charlotte pulled it tight around her and followed her aunt through the doors and out into the cold December night. As Polly took the lead walking down the lane, Charlotte felt the need to ask her aunt about Tommy's earlier activities, "You think Grace is gonna stay?"

"Not if she knows what's good for her." That was ominous.

"Is Tommy gonna be alright?"

Shrugging Polly muttered, "He will be. In time."

Charlotte was getting frustrated with the lack of information her aunt was willing to offer. "How much time?"

"Hard to say. But I'd suggest you try to keep on his good side for the foreseeable future."

"It's not like I aim to be on his bad side — it just happens that way."

"Well, I think you'd save yourself a whole lot of trouble if you can manage to stay outta trouble, that's all I'm saying. Follow the rules, do as he asks, and you'll be just fine." Arriving at number five Polly pulled out her keys, unlocking the door for Charlotte, "Here you are. Get inside, and lock the door."

Turning to question her Aunt, Charlotte nearly begged, "You're not staying?"

"I'm going home, Charlotte."

"But, you could stay..." Now she really was begging.

Shaking her head, Polly pushed Charlotte inside her home, "It's been a long day. I think we'd both like the comfort of our own beds. Goodnight, love."

Still standing with the door wide open, she tried to argue, "But Pol, it's just the two of us. Couldn't you–"

Interrupting her protestations Polly's firm voice brooked no argument, "There's no getting out of it, my girl. You'll have to face him on your own sooner or later. Just get it over with." Then turning on her heel Polly began to walk away. Sighing, Charlotte watched her aunt walk away, attempting to dredge up the courage to turn and take the first step inside when she heard Polly's voice once more, "And, Charlie?"

"Yeah?"

Speaking from over her shoulder, Polly kept on walking, "He's expecting you. So no sneaking out the back door, once I'm round the corner."

Damn it all. Everyone knew her too well. Sulking, Charlotte turned and took the first step into the warm home. Dutifully locking the door behind her, she walked through the sitting room into the kitchen. Wanting to avoid any kind of discussion, she hoped to get up the stairs before being spotted, but as usual — no such luck. The doors separating the dining area from the shop were wide open, and Tommy looked up from his seat at his desk at her appearance. Motioning her to him with a wave of his hand, she reluctantly made her way to his office. Hoping that she could still make this a short interaction she leaned against the doorframe — not fully entering the office, "Whatcha doing, Tom?"

Ignoring her question he asked, "Did you lock up?"

"Yes." It was barely a word. More of a frustrated sigh of a confirmation. Nodding at her, Tommy pulled a piece of paper from the typewriter and folded it with care.

Pointing to his paper she questioned, "What's that you got there?"

"Just a letter." It was technically an answer. Not much information to go off of though. Not wanting to push it, she hoped that this could be her chance to make a break for her bed. "Right. Well, night then." Turning, she attempted to move to the stairs before his voice had her pausing in her tracks.

"Hold on just a minute."

Sighing she turned back to face him, trying not to sound as whiny as she felt she stared, "Tommy please just leave–"

"No. It's my turn to speak, Charlotte." Serious voice. "Take a seat." He seemed composed as he finished folding the letter and searched his drawers for an envelope.

Throwing herself into the chair across from him, she folded her arms and pursed her lips, waiting for him to start his lecture.

Inserting his letter into its carrier he pointedly ignored her small tantrum as he started in, "That stunt you pulled today with Ada... That might very well be the stupidest thing you've ever done, you know that?"

Shrugging her shoulders, Charlotte decided that her best bet here was to keep her mouth shut.

Pursing his lips he narrowed his eyes at her and continued on, "Watching you storm right into the middle of that fight today..." Trailing off, she could see his frustration bubble to the surface as he searched for the right words. "Damn it, kid. Haven't we talked about you thinking before you act? You can't go doing that shit." Pausing again he waited to see if she'd respond. When she shrugged again he lowered his voice and continued his lecture, "You didn't even have your gun on you. What the fuck happened to that?"

Well that was an easy answer, "It didn't fit in any of my pockets."

He did not like that response, "So you didn't take it at all?" His voice was incredulous. He honestly couldn't possibly believe the response she'd just given him.

Shrugging in response, she knew he wouldn't like any answer she gave, so she chose not to give one.

Raising his voice he leaned across his desk towards her, "You just figured that you'd go marching into a war zone without any sort of weapon, because it didn't fit in your fucking pockets?"

That wasn't fair, this wasn't her fault. It was all Ada's bright idea. And he was the one that left her behind! "I didn't know I'd be marching into a war zone when we left. Ada wouldn't tell me her plan until I could hear your voice yelling about guns. And besides, it was Small Heath in the middle of the day, not the most dangerous scene."

Leaning back in his chair he seemed fed up with her lack of forethought, "Come on, Charlotte. You of all people should know that a situation can become dangerous in the blink of an eye."

"That's not fair!" Rising from the chair she slammed her hand on his desk, "What happened with the copper was entirely different–"

"Sit down." His voice was cold and hard. She shouldn't have yelled at him. That rarely ended well for her. Stepping away from him, she leaned her weight onto her back foot trying to put as much distance as possible between them, but also not entirely backing away from a fight.

Taking a deep breath he started up again, "I'm not saying it's the same–" Cutting himself off he questioned, "Would you please sit down?" Motioning to the chair, he waited until she was seated again before continuing, "I'm just saying that you should recognise by now that Small Heath isn't as safe as it use to be. And you should always be prepared. Alright?"

Turning her head to stare out the office door she wordlessly nodded at him.

"Say it." He was the absolute worst.

"I'll be more careful." Mumbling out the words, she still refused to look at him.

"Right, well, stop pouting. I got a present for ya."

Turning to face him, she narrowed her eyes, not quite believing him, "Yeah?"

"I was planning on giving it to you if you followed orders today; did as you were told." There was the catch. He had a present, but he wasn't gonna give it to her. What an ass.

"Oh, come on–"

Interrupting her he questioned, "Now, would you say that you followed orders today, Charlie?" Fucking hell.

"Tommy..." She wasn't going to go down this power trip with him.

"Stop whining, and answer me."

Fine. He was forcing her to do this now. "I guess it depends on how strictly you define the word 'follow'." How's that for an answer, eh?

"And how's that?" Leaning back in his chair he lit a cigarette and motioned for her to explain herself.

"Well, if you recall, you told me to do a handful of things when you left this afternoon. And at the end of the day, a few of those orders became contradictory."

Cocking both a grin and an eyebrow, Tommy motioned for her to continue.

"Well, first you told me to stay with Ada and Polly. Then you told me to help Ada until Freddie came back. And then you told us to go to the Bull Ring. So really, I did most of the things you told me to do. I stayed with Ada and I helped her."

"That you did — helped her nearly get you both shot."

Rushing forward with her explanation she wanted to make it clear that this was all Ada's doing. "I wanted to do what you said. But Ada made me go with her — I swear. You can ask her. That lunatic dragged me down the lane as easily as if I were some sort of doll. She's fucking strong, Tom."

"Well, I suppose you did the best you could, given the circumstances."

This time it was her turn to sit back in her chair and crack a grin, "Wait, what was that? Is Tommy Shelby conceding that someone else might actually be right?" Leaning forward, she placed her elbows on his desk, resting her face in her hands. Widening her eyes she tried to look as cute and innocent as possible. "Say it again. I want to remember this."

Scoffing at her obvious attempt at becoming an angelic vision, he demanded, "Get offa my desk, you hellion." Then pushing her backwards by her forehead, he made she she was properly seated before opening up his desk draw and pulling out a small brown box.

As he set it in front of her, she looked at it for a moment before his voice broke through her conscious, "Well? Are you gonna open it or not?"

Reaching forward she removed the lid, looking quizzically into the box. It looked to be a bundle of leather straps. Was it a harness? Or a bridle? Taking hold of the object she still couldn't come to a conclusion on what the thing was. "Erm, What is it?"

Smirking at her, he rose from his desk, motioning her to do the same. Sticking his cigarette between his lips and taking the leather straps from her hands, he moved to stand behind her, instructing, "Hold your arms out to the sides."

Sliding the stirrups over her arms and up onto her shoulders, he turned her to face him, and as he worked to tighten the straps it finally came to her, "This is mine? For my gun? Really?"

"Of course, Charlie." As he finished tightening the leather around her shoulders he took a step back to examine her in her new shoulder holster. "Just wish I'd given it to you at the beginning of the day. Then you wouldn't have showed up empty handed to a gunfight."

"It's perfect, Tommy, thank you."

Walking back around to sit in his chair, Tommy gave her a wink and made a nearly impossible request, "Let's just try to keep this from Polly for as long as possible, eh?"

"Em..." That was never gonna work. Polly's uncanny psychic ability meant she probably already knew about Tommy's gift. And if Tommy were thinking straight, he'd know this himself.

Flicking his ashes to floor he continued, "I don't need her going on and on about how dangerous it is for you to be carrying around a gun."

"Well, I think Aunt Polly's more concerned with you at the moment, than with me."

"What makes you think that?" He couldn't be serious.

"She all but told me. She's worried about you and Grace." Come on brother, get your head together, of course Polly was gonna worry.

"That's nothing she needs to be worrying herself over." Well, that was utter bullshit.

"But, Tommy..." Hell, she might as well just ask, there was no sugar coating this one, "What about Grace?"

His back straightened and he turned his head to look out the small window, "What about her?"

There were so many questions she wanted to ask — might as well start at the beginning, "She gone?"

"I don't know." He was blowing her off.

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I mean, I don't know, Charlie." He was starting to get irritated, that much was obvious, but there was no stopping her questions now. She was too tired and her filter was all but destroyed.

"Well, are you gonna go after her?"

"I think that's enough. Time for bed." He still wouldn't look at her. Fuck that.

"I'm not a kid anymore, Tommy. You can't just send me to bed because you don't wanna answer tough questions or face the facts. It doesn't work like that anymore."

Finally turning to look her full in the face he leaned in and narrowed his eyes; his voice turning the room chilly, "Last time I checked, you were still thirteen and I was still your older brother — and guardian. So I think it works exactly like that." Taking a drink from the champagne bottle next to him he added, "Now, I believe I told you it's time for bed. I'm not in the mood to–"

"Why won't you go after her?"

"And what, Charlie?" Raising his voice, he nearly shouted at her, "Bring her back here to Small Heath?" His voice was full of sarcasm and criticism. It was clear he thought the question was ridiculous, but she wasn't backing down.

"Why not? If she loves you–"

"Right then. That's the crux of the issue here isn't it? Love. Family. It's all wrapped together like a ribbon." Looking around his desk, he had clearly reached a point where he wanted something stronger than champagne. Pulling open his bottom desk drawer he reached in and pulled out his half full bottle of rum and drank straight from the bottle.

Flinching as he slammed the now nearly empty bottle down on his desk, Tommy continued on in his explanation, "I love this family, Charlie. Everything I've done has been for you and Ada and John and..." Listening intently she waited for him to continue after trailing off. When — after nearly a minute of silence — he still hadn't started talking again she worried, unsure if she should press him further or leave him be to sit in silence.

Finally taking a deep breath, he seemed to gather himself, "Love is a complicated matter. And I'd just as soon have this discussion another time."

Frustrated with his stoic resistance against this conversation she tried to explain, "We all just want you to be happy Tommy. We love you too, but–"

Exasperated he stopped her, "Damnit, Charlie. I love you, I do. But if you don't shut your mouth and help me to bed I might just strangle you."

And that was the end of the line. No more questions. She could tell he wasn't going to have any of it. His final joke was his way of telling her he couldn't continue — emotionally or physically.

She could now either laugh it off, or press him further. In an effort to preserve both of their sanities she made the decision to let him have this one. Time to move on, join in on his joke. "Strangle me? How you gonna do that? You got one good arm."

Relief flooded through him at her joke. She could see a monumental weight lifted off of him at her willingness to leave the 'Grace' question alone, "Right you are. I guess I'll have to get someone else to do it for me... Maybe John?"

"Ugh. Fucking John. Can you get him to lay off? I don't know what his problem is, but he needs to take it up with someone else."

"I think he's just worried–"

"I don't care. He squeezed by wrist so tight today he made me lose my grip on that glass... If he comes at me again, I'm gonna knock him out, Tommy. I swear to God I'll do it."

"I know you will." Standing from his seat, he took hold of his bottle of bubbly wine, and motioned for her to exit the office with him. "I'll have a talk with him. Now come help me up stairs."

"What you need help with?"

"I gotta get this shirt off — it's covered in me own blood. And these bandage needs refreshing. So it looks like you're gonna be my doctor tonight."

"Right then, Mr. Shelby. Please follow me this way to my surgery." Waltzing out of her brother's office, Charlotte made her way up the stairs and into the washroom, her injured brother not far behind.

A/N: Thank you all for you patience in waiting for this chapter. I've been traveling, dealing with the stomach flu, and barely managing to tolerate all my family and in-laws during this holiday season. I hope you enjoy, and please be patient in waiting for chapter eleven.

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A/N: Thank you all for you patience in waiting for this chapter. I've been traveling, dealing with the stomach flu, and barely managing to tolerate all my family and in-laws during this holiday season. I hope you enjoy, and please be patient in waiting for chapter eleven.


	11. Chapter 11

A Mind to Tear a Soul in Two: Chapter Eleven

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Standing over her brother as he sat on the edge of his bed, Charlotte worked to gently unravel the bandages from around Tommy's shoulder. After the two had made their way up the stairs from Tommy's office, she'd gathered up some ointments and cotton pads that had been left over from her spill atop the wardrobe last month, and began working to clean and cover her brother's newest bullet wound.

Working in silence, Charlotte wasn't sure how much time had passed as she put all of her concentration into making sure every speck of dirt and dust was removed from the wound — just like Esme had shown her with her own wounds not too long ago.

Tommy handled the cleaning and sterilising much better than she had; never once shouting, and only hissing once or twice as she tweezed a bit of dirt from the centre of the wound. Jeremiah had done an excellent job removing the bullet from her brother, but the priest turned emergency war doctor hadn't been trained in the smaller details of removing germs and dirt from wounds once the foreign object removal was complete.

As she finished wrapping up the wound, Charlotte turned to catch a glimpse of the clock on Tommy's desk. Startled to find she'd been dressing the wound for nearly a half of an hour, she hurriedly tucked the bandage in on itself to secure it in place, and began the final task of gathering the dirtied dressings for the wash.

Turning away from Tommy, who — had she not known any better — might've been asleep as he sat, swaying slightly with his eyes closed, Charlotte moved to gather her things before leaving him to truly sleep for the night. But as she shuffled her feet to step away from him, the comfortable silence that had settled in on them was broken by Tommy's hoarse voice, "Today didn't go exactly as planned–"

Turning back to face him, Charlotte couldn't stop the scoff that left her lips at his apt assessment. Resting on hand on her hip, she interrupted, "You think?"

Reaching up with his good arm to smack her on the head he lectured, "How about you try not being a little shit for a minute and let me speak, eh?"

Backing away from him with her arms raised in defence, she took a seat at his desk chair. As she settled in, she motioned her hands in a dramatic fashion, signalling that she was ready to listen to what he had to say.

Rolling his neck he sighed at her dramatics before continuing, "I want things to go back to normal around here."

"What does that even mean?" Interrupting again, Charlotte winced as Tommy's glare settled firmly on her.

"If you'd shut your mouth for once, I'd tell you." Pausing to let his words sink in, Tommy rolled his eyes as Charlotte reached up and acted as if she were locking her mouth closed and throwing away the key.

Clearing his throat he started in again, "You're going back to school. And Uncle Charlie is counting on your help at the yard. Our shipments are increasing, and he won't have the time to tend to the stables properly — which is where you come in."

Shaking her head, she tried to find the words to argue against his plan, but all she could think of was how badly she wanted to stay away from their Uncle's yard, "I don't wanna go back there, Tommy." Well, that wasn't going to work; she'd have to do better than, 'I don't wanna.' She knew well enough that by the time Tommy got around to actually sharing any plan, it has been settled in his head for days — and it would take nothing less than an act of God to get him to change his mind at that point.

Leaning forward, Tommy softened his features in an obvious attempt to comfort her, "I know you don't, but you've got to. When you're thrown from the horse, you've got to get right back on." Leaning to the side, Tommy's head drooped as he lowered his voice — almost as if talking to himself, "Maybe I've let you wait too long, maybe I should've done things different. But we can't change the past, we can only adjust moving forward."

She knew this wasn't a negotiation. He had his mind set. But she knew she owed it to herself to try, "Don't I get a say in this?" She was trying to keep her attitude in check, but being forced to do something she was so adamantly against was causing her defences to rise.

Snapping his head up to to meet her gaze, Tommy's tone immediately raised as if to match her own, "Not any more, you don't. You've had your say. You've kicked and screamed and cried, and now it's time to leave what happened behind you." Sighing, Tommy paused to see if she'd reply as he searched his pockets for a cigarette and match. Lighting up, he inhaled and slowly breathed out the nicotine laced smoke before continuing, "Day after tomorrow you'll go to the yard to start work. I'll meet you after school and we'll go together — you won't be alone. But you will go, Charlie. It's got to be done."

Not wanting to go down the path of a complete rager of an argument — especially at this hour — Charlotte crossed her arms and nodded at her brother. He wasn't going to change his mind tonight, she knew there was no point on even trying. They were both exhausted, stressed, and nerves were frayed. It would only get them riled up, and they were both in desperate need of a good sleep.

Rising from the chair, she coldly moved to make her exit, "Right then. Night, Tommy." She wasn't going to argue with him, but she didn't have to pretend like she was happy with the decision either. Dropping the dirtied bandages that she'd been holding onto during this conversation at the base of the desk near the fireplace, Charlotte decided Tommy could take care of his own damn laundry. He was the one that went and got himself shot, she shouldn't have to deal with his mess.

Moving past Tommy's spot on his bed Charlotte stopped as he reached out, and took hold of her hand. Snatching her hand from his, Tommy sighed as he flicked the ashes from the tip of his cigarette, "Come on Charlie... Don't be like this... You know it's got to be done."

"Whatever you say, Tom." She deserved some sort of award for this. She was letting him have his way — for now anyway. And she wasn't pitching a fit, or raising any sort of argument. She needed to leave before she snapped though — she could only stay strong for so long. Turning once again towards the door, she growled as Tommy spoke up, once more stopping her from taking her leave, "Wait, I've got one more thing for you before bed."

Rounding on him she found she had no patience left for whatever it was he had for her, "Fucking, what?"

As if she hadn't just cursed at him, Tommy coolly pointed his cigarette back to where she'd just risen from, "There on me desk — the knife."

Walking back, she furrowed her brow in confusion. Tommy was giving her his army knife? He'd already allowed her one weapon — John's gun. She didn't think he'd hand her a second. She didn't even know how to use a knife. Picking up the weapon, she questioned, "Your knife? Why?"

Nodding at her Tommy explained, "It's yours now. Keep it on you — just in case. Consider it a back up plan."

"Tommy– I don't– It's only–" Honestly she wasn't sure what to say or feel. Gazing at the weapon she held it in her hand, unblinking, uncertain, and unsure what to do next. All she could think of was the blood that spewed from her attacker as she plunged the knife into his neck. It had been warm and it had flowed from him like a dam breaking in spring. It wasn't something she really wanted to dwell on.

"I kept that on me every day during the war." Interrupting her dark thoughts, Tommy's voice brought her mind back to the present, "It didn't do much for me then, but I'd like to think that — even though I wasn't there that night for you — a part of me kept you alive, with that knife."

Fucking hell. Couldn't he just let her be angry with him? That was a much easier emotion to process whatever this was. Taking a deep breath, Charlotte shook her head and took a step towards him. Holding the knife out for him to take back, she started to explain, "Tommy, I don't blame you–"

"Just keep it, eh, Charlie?" Reaching out he pushed her hand back towards herself, "Do your injured big brother a favour, don't argue. Just keep it on you."

Standing awkwardly in front of him, shifting her weight from foot to foot she nodded as her hands fumbled with the blade, "I suppose I can do that, just this once."

Taking a final puff of his cigarette, Tommy grinned at her in appreciation as he moved to stub out his lite. "Right then, off to bed with you." Waving her toward the door, he rushed her exit, signalling the end of the discussion. "Shut the door, will ya, Charlie?"

Nodding to her brother and doing as he asked, Charlotte had barely made it across the hall to her own room before she could hear his snores through the door, signalling his quick retreat into darkness.

As she stoked the coals in her fireplace, she thought how unfortunate it was that Tommy's exhaustion should consume him on a night when she too wished for nothing more than to curl up warm in her own bed. After all, an exhausted Tommy meant a heavily sleeping Tommy. And a heavily sleeping Tommy was just what was needed for a night of sneaking and adventuring.

But in her own exhaustion, the thought of gathering the energy needed to concaught a night filled with adventures made her eyelids heavy. And like her brother across the hall, it wasn't long after her head hit the pillow that soft weezing snores filled the air, replacing all thoughts of sneaking and adventuring.

The following Sunday went by as quietly as one could ever hope for. Tommy had slept in longer than Charlotte had ever seen, checking in on him every few hours to make sure he was still alive and breathing. When he finally made an appearance in the kitchen around two in the afternoon, Charlotte had made them both tea and sandwiches before he closed himself off in his office to finish paperwork. It was as if Black Star Day had never happened; no shooting, no screaming, no death, no Grace, no Freddie — nothing. Just an average Sunday with your average English family.

It was bloody boring.

But now, as Charlotte found herself walking with Tommy from her school to their uncle's yard, she wished for a day just like yesterday as she tried to calm her frayed nerves. Earlier that day Tommy had insisted on walking her to school — claiming an early morning meeting nearby had him going in the same direction.

Rather than causing a scene by calling him out on his ridiculous lie, Charlotte had walked silently by his side allowing him to both see for himself that she had walked through the school's doors, and demand that she wait for him afterwards so they could walk together to Uncle Charlie's yard.

So here they were, walking side by side in silence for the second time that day. Only this was different. This would be her first time back in the barn since the attack, and she honestly wasn't sure how she would handle it.

Not quite an hour earlier, after she'd been dismissed from her final class of the day, JP had caught up with her before leaving the school house to meet up with her brother — who she had spotted through the classroom window impatiently chain smoking as he waited outside.

"Charlie girl, I got this for you. It's a little gift to get you through the day." Holding out an open palm, Charlotte could see the white snow hiding inside of a blue vial.

"Jesus Christ, Jessup! How many of those you carry around with you?" She was legitimately surprised at his never ending supply of the stuff.

Giving her a wink, a sly grin spread across his face, "Enough."

Rolling her eyes at his cockiness, she took her time in deciding what to do with the offered gift. After a minute she finally pushed his hand away, firmly instructing, "Put it away. Tommy's outside those doors right there."

Scoffing at her, Jessup cheekily replied, "I'm not offering it to him... I'm offering it to you, aren't I?" Shaking her head at him, she was surprised when he gripped her by the arm and led her down a short hallway, away from prying eyes, "Honestly Charlie, you look like shit. You sure going back to the barn is the best idea today?"

"Absolutely not." If she thought she'd win, she would have tried physically fighting Tommy rather than going to the barn. But every now and then the portion of her brain committed to self-preservation would kick in, reminding her that fighting Tommy was always a losing battle — one that never ended well for her. Focusing back to Jessup she added, "But apparently I don't get a say in the matter."

Nodding knowingly, he repeated the infamous phrase, "By order of the peaky blinders."

"Exactly."

"Well, here then." Placing the vial in her hands he continued, "Just take a small hit. Just something to get you through until tonight at my cousin's pub with Johnny and Ezra."

"Really, JP, thanks. But I can't risk it. I can't be on snow around Tommy. Even if it is just a bit. I'm stressed out enough as it is, I don't need to add the worry of trying to hide one more thing from him." Pressing the vial back into his hands she added, "Besides — I think I've gotten myself into enough trouble after blowing through the vial you gave me this morning."

Smirking at her, he laughed, "Yeah, but watching you tell Schultz off was one for the history books."

Shoving him playfully she couldn't help but smirk back, "It might've made history, but that was more snow than me doing the talking today." Motioning to the vial pressed firmly back in Jessup's palm she added, "Now put that away, and ask me again tonight. Maybe I'll need it then."

Placing the vial back into his pocket, Jessup tipped an imaginary cap in her direction, he dramatically flourished it in the air before announcing — in his best oxford accent, "Anything you say, Miss Shelby." And with that he was off, heading out that back door — likely to avoid her brother.

But now, as she stood in front of the entrance to the yard, she questioned her decision to forgo the confidence boost. Trying to calm her shaking nerves she took a deep breath and looked to her brother.

Before her, Tommy held open the gate gesturing her to walk through so he could lock up after her. "Charlie, come on. I'm right here, nothing bad is gonna happen."

Shaking her head in defiance she stood frozen in place. Unable to move forward and unable to run away, she was stuck. "Please, Tommy... can we do this another day? Any other day? Just not today."

Sighing, Tommy propped the gate open, and moved in her direction, "Charlie... Today's just as good as any other day."

"No it–"

Moving to stand beside her, he wrapped his good arm arm around her shoulder and cut off her protestations, "Charlie, it's gotta be done." Kissing the top of her head he tightened his grip and began walking her forcibly forward, through the gate.

Once on the other side he turned her to face him, "See, it's not so bad. This side ain't any different from that side."

Nodding at him, she took in a shuddering breath, attempting to convince herself that he was right.

"Come on, let's keep going." Reaching out again, Tommy took hold of her shoulder, and began to lead the way to the stables.

"You remember the first time you ever rode, eh?" He was trying to distract her, but for once she didn't fight him, giving way to the memory.

"I'd gotten stung by a bumble bee." Moving her free hand she unconsciously rubbed the place on her opposite arm where she'd been stung. It had been over ten years now, but there was still a small dark scar from where the bee's stinger had been imbedded.

"You were what? Four years old?" Nodding at him, he took this as his cue to continue the story, "Polly had tried to get the stinger out, but your arm had swollen so quickly it was damn near impossible."

"She kept poking me with a needle, and pinching my arm with those stupid tweezers. I don't even remember how much it hurt from the actual stinger — only Polly trying to dig the thing out of me."

Taking over the narrative Tommy continued on, "I remember walking through the back door, and there you were, sitting on top of the table, crying your little eyes out."

Scoffing at him she protested, "I was not..."

Shaking his head he repeated his recollection of the event, "That's how I knew something was wrong — you couldn't stop crying. You never cried — even when you were a baby, you weren't much for crying."

Scoffing at him again she defended her past tears, "You try getting stabbed with a sewing needle over and over again and see if you don't cry."

"Polly was at her wits end. She had no clue what to do with you or the damn stinger stuck in your arm." Squeezing her hand, Tommy rounded the corner, bringing them to stand at the entrance to the stables. "I knew both of you needed some time away from one another — and you in particular needed a distraction. So I brought you here, to feed the horses."

Thinking back to that day she tried to remember everything that Tommy was retelling, "I don't remember feeding them."

"That's because you refused. The second you set eyes on that pretty little palomino — the old fella, Mr. Merryweather–"

"Mr. Mayberry." She correct him.

"Well, the second you saw him, you'd decided that you wanted nothing else but to ride." Turning to face her Tommy acted exasperated as he began to dramatically list her past demands, raising a finger each time, "And you wanted to ride bareback... And you didn't want the bridle... And you wanted to ride alone..."

Ignoring his teasing, Charlotte continued to look forward, adding — as if bored to repeat herself, "Saddles are unnatural."

Sighing, he turned away, following her line of sight, "Yes, I'm aware of that particular opinion." She wasn't looking at him, but she knew he was rolling his eyes at her.

"I remember feeling as if I were a true gypsy, just me and my horse out in the wild."

Scoffing at her, Tommy reprimanded, "Tu esti řomani čačes." (You are a true gypsy.)

Rolling her eyes at him, she didn't want to dwell on his silent allegiance to their Romany heritage — that was another lecture for another day, "Don't start with some Shelta lecture. You know what I mean."

"I know what you mean. But I don't think you're remembering it exactly as it happened."

"How's that?"

Once more he acted exasperated having to explain this all to her, "I mean that you weren't riding alone — wild and free — like you think you were. That horse was bridled, and I was walking beside you with the reigns the whole time."

"What? No you weren't." Digging deep into her memory Charlotte tried to retrieve that day in history. She tried to remember more than just riding the horse. But try as she might, she couldn't remember her brother walking beside her.

Interrupting her mental search, Tommy balked, "You think I'm gonna put my four-year-old sister on an unsaddled horse for the very first time, and let her go off all on her own?"

He did have a point. "I just don't remember you being there, that's all..."

"Trust me, Charlie. I was there the whole time, making sure you didn't fall off. And making sure that old Mr. Merryweather didn't–"

"Mayberry."

"Right, Mr. Mayberry. I was there to make sure he didn't get spooked and run off."

Unsure what to say to this new revelation, Charlotte shivered as she stared forward, feeling Tommy watching her from the corner of her eye.

"I was there the whole time. I might've missed a lot during the war, but from now on — I'll always be here, Charlie."

Sighing at him, she finally turned to face him as she remembered, "That day was everything to me; that day changed everything for me. If it hadn't been for that one day out with Mr. Mayberry, I never would've survived all of you being gone for so long."

Looking off into the distance, Tommy seemed lost in his mind, "From that day on, anytime you were hurt or upset, you'd ask to come see the horses." Chuckling to himself, he reached up and pinched her arm, "Remember when you asked permission to do things?"

Shoving his hand away she muttered, "Zbujede." (Fuck off)

Smirking at her he teased, "I thought we weren't being gypsies today."

"You want it in English too?" She knew the phrase in several languages — she'd be happy to oblige.

Ignoring her offer, Tommy carried on, "Right then. It's time to go in. This has to be done, Charlie. This is your place. You need to remember how being here made you feel. You need to erase the bad memories and fill your mind with new ones, and that'll never happen if you keep running away."

Charlotte watched as Tommy walked forward, wrenched open the stable's swinging door and waited expectantly for her to follow.

When she once again remained frozen to her spot he sighed, let go of the door, and marched back to her. Reaching down he took a firm hold of her hand and attempted to drag her forward.

As he yanked her forward, a pained hiss escaped her lips and she jerked her hand out of his grasp, absentmindedly shaking her hand to dull the sharp pain.

"What's wrong with your hand?" Pointing to her hands Tommy questioned her strange behaviour.

"Em, it's nothing. Just slipped earlier, got a little scratched up. That's all." Fidgeting with the sleeves of her coat, she pulled the coarse fabric down to cover her palms and tried to change the subject, "You're right. It's time to move on. Let's go."

Then making her way to the door of the stables she found herself blocked by Tommy outstretched arm, "Lemme see."

Shaking her head she explained, "Really, it's not a big deal, I'm fine." Then moving around his arm she stubbornly marched forward into the barn.

From behind her, the sound of the swinging door slamming closed sent shivers down her spine and she jumped when she felt Tommy's grasp come down on her shoulder. Spinning her to face him, his voice was firm and his face full of suspicion, "Charlie, let me see your hands." He knew she was hiding something.

"Tommy please–" Whining in a last ditch effort for him to leave her be, she wasn't able to get far before her was snapping at her, "Now."

"Jesus fucking Christ... Can't let one little thing go, can you?" Then thrusting her hands in front of herself she presented her brother with three raised welts across her palms.

"What's this?" Sighing at her, he ran his own hand through his hair, "It's your first day back at school, Charlie. I told you to stay outta trouble."

Deciding that Tommy had seen enough, she pulled her hands back, crossing her arms in defence of whatever lecture she was about to receive.

"What did you do this time?" Raising an eyebrow at her he waited expectantly for an answer. When she sighed without replying he raised his voice, "Answer me."

At his cold, demanding tone, the words flew from her mouth in her defence — nearly rambling, "I didn't do anything. It was Mr. Schultz, he's always hated me, he was just trying to prove a point. He really hates me."

"So you did nothing to provoke the man?" He was skeptical.

"Not really...?" She didn't intend for it to be a question, but his firm skepticism in her innocence left her unsure how to proceed in the story. She sure as fuck couldn't tell him she'd been high as a kite and she barely remembered telling off Mr. Schultz in front of the whole history class.

"Charlotte Shelby, you tell me exactly what happened, right now. And I want the truth of it all. Because if these marks were inflicted upon you without cause, I'll send Arthur over to see Mr. Schultz tonight to have a talk with him over his treatment of the students of Small Heath." Biting her lip, Charlotte looked at Tommy trying to decide what to say to him. But before anything could come to mind he was speaking again, "We are the most powerful family in this city. My brothers will not be laughed at, and my sisters will not be treated unfairly. And I'll cut any man that does otherwise."

Shaking her head at him, she mumbled, "Christ. Don't do that."

"Tell me what happened, now. Either you earned those welts, or Mr. Schultz has earned a beating. Which is it?"

Chewing on her fingernails, wishing she could end this conversation and move on to the horses, she mumbled, "Maybe I cursed at him."

Scoffing at her, Tommy questioned, "Maybe? Either you did or you didn't."

Continuing to chew on her fingernails as she picked at the dry skin on her lips, Tommy finally reached out to smack her hands, "Get your fingers outta your mouth. That's disgusting." Glaring at him, she slowly obeyed as he ordered, "Answer me, Charlie."

Becoming defensive she threw her arms in the air in frustration, "Tommy! He's never liked me! He's always calling me out and picking on–"

Taking a step towards her Tommy stopped her whining as he demanded, "Answer the question. Either you did, or you didn't. Which is it?"

Leaning her head back, Charlotte let her shoulder droop and her arms sway — she was the perfect picture of a petulant child. Frustrated with his persistence, she continued to look up at the ceiling of the stables, rather than at her brother as she replied, "I did."

He made a grunting noise that drew her eyes back to his own, "Why?"

Shrugging she answered, "He accused me of not paying attention."

"Were you paying attention?"

Indignant she spat out, "Yes!" Before breathing in a calming breath to explain further, "I was only looking out the window. But I was listening. I was! And if he'd only asked me to repeat back to him... but he didn't... he just picked on me..." She was losing focus. She needed to pull it together, "It's just that... Well... I didn't appreciate being called out in front of everyone... So I told him that if he would bloody well teach us something interesting I might fucking pay attention." Stopping to take a breath, Charlotte waited to see what Tommy would say. When the air around them stayed quiet she added, "That's all I did, I swear."

Waiting a moment before speaking, Tommy coolly questioned, "You said this in front of the whole class?"

Nodding at him, she fidgeted, remembering how her cocaine riddled brain hadn't been able to stop the words as they flew from her mouth. When she finished, half the class had gasped while the other half chuckled. Mr. Schultz on the other hand had flushed red before dragging her by the ear from her seat to stand in front of the class.

It hadn't been the first time she'd had her palms caned in front of a classroom filled with her peers, and it likely wasn't the last time either. But she wished Tommy would either yell or move on — she was tired of explaining everything to him. Shuffling in the silence as she waited for Tommy's response, she picked at her fingernails, worrying her hands until she squeezed just a bit too tight, wincing in reminder of the punishment she was in the middle of explaining.

"Sounds like you deserved it then." Finally, he speaks.

Shrugging, she mumbled without looking to him, "Yeah. I guess."

"Lemme see them again." Motioning for her to present her hands once more, she thrust them forward for his closer examination.

Holding both of her hands in his one, he questioned "Hurts?"

"Fucking, yes." They did. She'd had her hands canned before, but never three times, and never so fiercely. Mr. Schultz had really put his strength into his strikes.

"Hope you learned your lesson then." Giving her a serious look, he pushed her hands down and asked, "This why you wanted to come back another day?"

"Part of it."

"Right. Well, when we're done here, we'll head to the Garrison — get you some ice from Harry for those welts. Shouldn't hurt as much tomorrow."

Whining to him, Charlotte tried once more to get away from the yard, "Can't we just come back and do this tomorrow?"

Shaking his head, Tommy moved down the aisle of the barn calling back to her, "I'm busy tomorrow. And besides, you knew we were doing this today. You should've kept your mouth shut. And I do expect you to be here tomorrow — fulfilling your duties with Curly."

"But Tommy–"

Striding back to grasp her by the arm, Tommy wasted no time in dragging her down to the tack closet where the supplies were kept, "No, Charlotte. Stop whining. You wanted to be part of this. We all voted. You agreed to the rules. So here we are — first day on the job. Let's get to it."

Refusing to let her whine any longer, Tommy took charge of showing her exactly what was expected. Most of the duties she was already well aware of, having spent a significant amount of time over the past few years making herself at home with the horses. But Tommy wanted everything to be clear and stated — no room for mistakes or mislead assumptions.

Two hours later, the books had been stacked, notes had been taken, and the following weeks' diary filled in with her schedule of duties.

Tommy had been putting the last of the gear away when Charlotte felt the sudden need to take one last look at the location that had staged the worst moments of her life.

Making her way down the length of the barn, she stopped at the empty stable, unsure of how to proceed. Tommy was right, it was time to move on. Replace what had been with something new and fresh.

But right before her sat the memory of the life she'd taken that night. Closing her eyes she let the memory play out like a film.

It all happened so fast, and there were still large gaps in her memory. But she suddenly felt she was ready for closure on what she'd done.

The murder she'd committed.

From behind her she felt Tommy's presence. He was staying back, letting her handle this her own way, but still holding the reins — standing just out of view, ready to catch her if she were to fall.

Stepping forward she found herself taking hold of the stall's sliding door and yanking it closed. The door flew smoothly along its hinges, slamming closed causing a hard angry banging noise to echo off the walls around them.

Turning to face her brother she demanded, "I want a chain and lock."

Uncertainty filled his eyes and her tried to reason with her, "Charlie, you shouldn't–"

"No! I want it locked up. I want it closed forever. I don't want to walk pass here everyday and see a murder scene play out before me. It's evil. And I want it shut up."

Nodding at her he wordlessly walked to the supply closet, returning with a heavy chain and an old rusted padlock.

Snatching the items from him she proceeded to wrap the chain through the bars of the door, looping them through and attaching them to the piping on the neighbouring wall. Closing padlock on the links of the chain she turned back to her brother, "Where's the key?"

Patting his trouser pocket he informed, "I've got it here."

"I want it."

"Let's call this a compromise — you get the stall locked up, and I get to keep the key. Deal?"

"Fine." Standing there, she wasn't sure what to do next. Her anger rippled under her skin, just beneath the surface. She wanted to run. She wanted to hit something. She wanted a hit of something. Shaking the thoughts from her mind she finally questioned Tommy, "Can we go now?"

Nodding, Tommy motioned towards the door, wordlessly instructing her to exit.

"You gonna let me have a drink at the Garrison?"

"Sure."

Still feeling the anger roiling through her, she demanded, "I want a whiskey."

"Fine. One whiskey."

Shocked at his easy agreement of her request, she couldn't help asking, "Really?"

Chuckling at her shock, he mocked, "You want me to tell you no?"

Shaking her head at him, she mumbled to herself, "Right. Let's go."

Urging her towards the door he beckoned, "Ladies first" before turning out the overhead lights and following her out of the yard.

* * *

Walking into the Garrison, Charlotte made a beeline to the bar, immediately asking Harry for her whiskey, "Make it a double, Harry. With ice."

"Coming right up, Charlie." Turning away from her, Charlotte rolled her eyes as she watched Harry not-so-subtly raised an eyebrow at Tommy, making sure the barman had her brother's permission to serve her a double whiskey.

At Tommy's nod, Harry made his way to the back room where the icebox was kept, and Charlotte turned around to observe the bar patrons.

To her left, the door to the pub's private snug opened, and Arthur stumbled out, two women fawning over him — one on each arm.

Charlotte immediately averted her eyes — she had never been interested in keeping up to date on the comings and goings of her brother's love lives. The idea of Tommy visiting Lizzy and Arthur bringing home a new girl every other night, gave her the willies. As far as she was concerned, ignorance was bliss when concerning the sex lives of the Shelby boys.

As the women surrounding Arthur continued to giggle and flirt, Tommy finally felt the need to intervene.

Clearing his throat, Tommy was able to gain his older brother's attention, nodding to their sister standing to his right.

Raising her hand, Charlotte gave her brother and his women an awkward wave. Unsure who was more uncomfortable at the scene unfolding before them — Arthur or Charlotte — Tommy mercifully spoke up, "You ladies were just leaving, weren't you?"

Nodding at the threatening man before them, they hurriedly scrambled away from Arthur, grabbing their jackets before exiting out the main doors of the pub.

"Here you go, Charlie, my girl." Turning her attention to the other side of the bar, Charlotte gladly took her drink, immediately finding relief in the burn of the amber liquid.

"Thanks, Harry."

Nodding had her, he gave a smile before turning to her brother, "Anything I can get you, Mr. Shelby?"

Shaking his head Tommy confirmed, "Not now, Harry." As Harry walked away, Tommy turned to her, raising a finger to her face with a warning, "We agreed on one."

Smirking at him she explained, "This is one. One glass, anyway."

Rolling his eyes, Tommy turned from her as Arthur saddled up to the bar, "Busy day, eh Arthur?"

Snorting into her whiskey glass, Charlotte couldn't help but chuckle as Arthur's face flushed red.

"Aye, aye, very funny. Where've you two been, eh?" Clearly embarrassed at being caught red handed, Arthur tried to move the conversation along.

"We've just been back from the barn." Informing him of their previous location, Tommy reached over and ruffled Charlotte's hair, "Our Charlie here is ready for her first day on the job tomorrow."

Leaning over the bar to get a good look at her, Arthur questioned, "Yeah, Charlie? You think you're ready for it?"

Downing the remainder of her drink, Charlotte mumbled, "Sure, why not?" into the ice clinking around in her glass before calling out to Harry, "One more please, Harry." Cupping the cold glass in her welted hands she scoffed as Tommy hollered after her, "She'll have a single, Harry." Then turning to her, again with his finger raised, "You're pushing it."

As Harry refilled her glass, Charlotte threw the drink back announcing, "I'm off anyway." Heading for the door, she gave Arthur a kiss on the cheek before Tommy's voice had her pausing in her tracks.

"Where you think you're going?"

The way he phrased his question — "Where you THINK you're going?", the way he emphasised that one word, meant there was a chance she wasn't going anywhere tonight. There was a chance he wouldn't allow it.

She needed to give him an easy, convincing lie. Telling him she was headed to an Irish bar on the other side of town, where she'd proceed to galavant around with a traveling gypsy, a Black Country boy, an upper-class businessman, and her carefree musician best friend — all of the male persuasion — would only end with her being banished to her room for the rest of the night. She needed to keep it simple.

"Ezra's place for dinner. Mrs. Harlow is expecting me."

Examining her before giving his decision, Charlotte held her breath, waiting on his word. "Right. Well, be back home at a decent hour — not half past three in the morning like last time; you've got school tomorrow."

Sighing at him, Charlotte smiled as she turned to walk away, "Whatever you say, mother."

Choosing to ignore her comment, Tommy instead reached out with his good arm to take hold of her elbow, "Hold on one minute. I'll be gone late on business, so–"

Shaking herself free of his grasp, she interrupted his explanation, "You can be out late, but not me?"

"One of us is an adult here, Charlie." Giving her an icy glare he continued, "You need to be home by the time I'm back." Then giving her a final menacing look he finished, "I mean it."

Crossing her arms, she shifted her weight and questioned, "Well, when do you expect you'll be back?" If her band of musicians was going to get any work done, she'd need an idea of how late she'd be allowed to stay out.

Shaking his head at her, he simply stated, "Late." Unsatisfied with his answer, the two stood glaring at each other — Charlotte waiting for more information, and Tommy waiting for her to realise that none would be forthcoming.

After a minute of tense silence, Charlotte came to the frustrating realisation that Tommy wouldn't be providing an exact hour, "Well, where you going, then?"

"Out of town."

Irritated at his inability to share details, Charlotte began to whine before she was cut off, "That's not fair–"

"I imagine I'll be home before half past three, so you should be too."

Eyeing her brother, Charlotte tried to gauge his mood. His comment of half past three could be a joke, or it could be a very literally estimation — with Tommy it was hard to tell.

Watching him lean against the bar, Charlotte narrowed her eyes and watched him narrow his in return. Sighing, she concluded that this was probably a joke involving her late night adventures, and she should probably be home before then.

Which meant she wasn't going to get much time with the boys tonight. She needed to get going, there wasn't much time to waste hanging around here, trying to squeeze a drop of information from the stubborn rock that she called a brother.

"Fine. I'll be home early."

"If you're not — there will be consequences."

Rolling her eyes, Charlotte sighed, "Save the lecture, I've heard it." Then turning her back on her brothers, she once again started toward the exit when Tommy shouted after her, "Make sure you have your key, the house will be locked up."

Pausing in her retreat, Charlotte turned, cautiously questioning, "And if I don't have me key?"

Rolling his eyes, Tommy motioned for Harry as he questioned, "Why don't you have your key? Where is it?"

"At home. I didn't think I'd need it — there's always someone in the shop."

As Harry arrived at her brother's beckon Tommy ordered, "Pour me a dark, would ya?" Nodding in confirmation, Harry moved to retrieve the requested drink as Tommy continued, "Not tonight there won't be — you need to make sure you always got a key."

"Well, I don't have it, and I don't wanna go all the way there just to get it. So, I'll just stay at the Harlow's home tonight–"

Cutting her off, Tommy shook his head, "No. I want you at our home."

"But I don't have a key."

Reaching into his pocket, Tommy pulled out his ring of keys, removing the one belonging to number five Watery Lane before offering it to her, "Here, take mine."

Not reaching for the offered item, Charlotte attempted to insist that her evening be spent with the Harlow family, "But I can just stay with–"

Interrupting her line of thinking, Tommy's voice grew stern, "I said, no. I want you home tonight." Pushing himself off of the bar, he started towards her. Placing the pewter key in her pocket he leaned in to quietly provide directions in her ear, "Take mine. When you get home, put it under the back staircase, and lockup from the inside — just like when you were little."

When she was a child — before all the Shelby brothers had gone off to France — Charlotte hadn't been allowed a house key of her own. She'd never been great at holding on to small belongings, and after she'd dropped two different sets of keys into the cut while wrestling, Polly had informed her that she'd lost the privilege of being a key-carrying member of the family.

It's not like she ever really needed a key — she'd been only ten when the war started after all — and the house and shop were almost always occupied with members of the peaky blinders coming and going at all hours of the day and night.

It was a rare occasion when Arthur or Tommy or Polly would lend her their key when the adults would have business to tend to away from the shop. She was usually sent to the Harlow home immediately following school for supervision, where she'd have supper, then be walked home by Mr. Harlow after a night with the family was finished. Mr. Harlow would walk her home to Watery Lane, entering the building to inspect both floors of the shop and home to ensure that all was safe before instructing her to hide the key and lock up after him, and wait for her Aunt or brothers to arrive.

Pulling her mind back to the present, Charlotte groaned at Tommy's instructions, "Like I said, I want you home and in bed by the time I'm back."

"Is this some sort of test, or something?"

"Or something."

Turning on her heel, Charlotte had decided she'd had enough of Tommy's elusive and non-committal chattering, she had somewhere to be. Walking away she heard Tommy growl at her, "I mean it, Charlie."

Without turning she called back to him, "Fine."

"Those boys better walk you home." This time it was Arthur's voice calling after her. Turning around to face her brothers, Charlotte continued to walk backwards towards the exit, smirking as she reassured him, "They always do, Arthur. You don't need to worry about me."

* * *

A/N: My apologies for the long wait!

I've been traveling quite a bit, and this story had be put on the back burner. But I was to assure you all, I've got an outline all the way through season three, so Charlie's story is nowhere near finished. Going forward the chapters might be a bit slow, but the story is not discontinued.

Thank you again to everyone who commented! I appreciate every one of your reviews.


	12. Chapter 12

A Mind to Tear a Soul in Two: Chapter Twelve

* * *

Reaching under the back steps that lead to number six Watery Lane, Tommy let out a relieved sigh as his fingers brushed against the freezing cold metal of his pewter key. Fishing the key out from its hiding spot and unlocking the backdoor, Tommy was mildly surprised to find that his sister was in fact home before him. If he were being honest with himself he'd have guessed there was a thirty percent chance she would've actually obeyed him. But this is why he never placed money on the races — yes, it was rigged — but he had never been great when it came to picking the odds.

Locking up behind him, he placed the borrowed item back on his ring of keys, sliding it into place next to its counterparts before checking the coals in the oven and heading up the stairs to catch some sleep after a long night of negotiations and sharing of intelligence.

He'd have to call a family meeting in the next day or two in order to update everyone on the events that had unfolded outside of their periphery since the events that led to Grace's disappearance and Kimber's death.

He'd also need to have a chat with Freddie and Ada over what they planned to do moving forward. After all, Freddie was an escaped dangerous communist, wanted for crimes against the state — and for recently overpowering and escaping his police escort. Tommy couldn't have Freddie getting himself locked up again. He'd need to find a way to get in front of this. If his sister's husband found himself behind bars, or worse — standing on the gallows with a noose around his neck, Ada would never forgive him.

But with his newest intelligence concerning Campbell, getting Freddie out of this bind might be easier than previously expected. He'd need to speak with Pol first, she'll have a better idea of what Ada will want.

He already knew that what was best for Ada would be Freddie dead and gone. Leaving Ada to move on and live a full, happy life with some working Joe that could easily provide for her and Karl. But he also knew that what was best for Ada, wouldn't be what she'd want. And he was sick and tired of going toe to toe with the women in this family. Each of them was too smart and too stubborn for their own good.

Speaking of stubborn women, Tommy had finally made it up the stairs and was tip-toeing round the corner past Charlotte's room, when having only taken two steps in the direction of his own, he paused — a sense of uncertainty washing over him.

He knew he should check — the tingling sensation in his spine told him so. He knew he needed to be sure she was there — in bed, sleeping soundly.

But if he opened that door and she wasn't there, not only was he off to hunt for disobedient teenager, but he was sure to deliver a beating after she'd been discovered.

And he only wanted this night to be over. No hunting, no lectures, no walloping, just sleep. His brain was filled with information he desperately needed to process. His shoulder was throbbing. And he was certain that he'd gotten a sliver of wood lodged in his palm from the barn that afternoon. He just wanted to sleep.

Only sleep.

Only sleep.

This was his mantra as he took hold of the door handle and slowly pushed open the door, not wanting to wake Charlotte with the creaking of the old wood. She slept so lightly anymore that he couldn't possibly believe that she was getting enough sleep to keep her going through the day.

Sticking his head into the room, and looking down the way to her bed illuminated by the flames from her fire, Tommy knew he should've left it all alone. He should've let sleeping dogs lie. But no, his damn sense of responsibility had to take over. And now look where it had gotten him... An empty bed and a missing sister.

Running his hands over his face in exhaustion he could help the comparison that came to mind. Ada had never been this much trouble. She had her moments, sure. But Ada had never been one for sneaking out in the middle of the night. Well, not when she'd been under his guardianship at least. She'd saved her miscreant behaviour for after the war — after Freddie had returned.

But even that was more manageable than Charlie's midnight adventures. Ada was single-minded. Ada was predictable. Ada was an open book. Charlie was none of those things. Her mind — although similar to his own — was excellent at hiding her secrets. At any given moment she could be over at the yard, down by the cut, enjoying dinner at the Harlow home, or any other damn place you could possibly think of within Birmingham city limits. And even that wasn't guaranteed. Charlotte Shelby was a puzzle with extra pieces; it was solvable, but you had to dig deep to weed out the unnecessary pieces in order to see the complete picture.

Looks like he'd been spot on with his estimated seventy/thirty odds. He'd have to place a bet on the next race.

Fucking hell, what had she done? Put the key under the staircase for him to find, then turned right back out into Birmingham again? She she not think he'd check on her? Did she think he would've stayed out all night?

Maybe that's exactly what she thought. After all, the one night in recent history where he should've been here to check up on her, he'd been off having a romp with Grace. And there'd been no one here to make sure she was safe, sleeping secure in her own home.

Hanging his head he took in a deep breath and was surprised how little anger he felt; only exhaustion.

Closing the bedroom door, Tommy turned on his heel, leaving all thoughts of rest behind. Instead he scoured his brain for possible locations for his sister to have gone for the night.

His first thought was the Commons — the dancehall was open late every nice since the war, catering to dancers and musicians alike. He knew she'd been seen there on occasion, hell, not quite a year ago John had drug her home after finding she'd snuck out to dance and get drunk with friends. He couldn't judge her too harshly though, he, himself use to end up there when he was her age. But that was a long walk to the other side of Birmingham, especially in this chilly winter early morning air.

Then there was Charlie's yard. That would normally be his first stop when his sister would go missing, but it seemed unlikely she'd head there given her reluctance to walk through the barn doors only just that afternoon. It was, however, entirely possible that today was just what she needed to remember how much she loved horseback riding. It wasn't unthinkable that she'd gotten the itch to go riding, and was now galloping half way to London.

It was also entirely likely that she might've just returned to stay the night at the Harlow home. Given her insistence on wanting to stay there earlier that evening, and how the family had taken her in since she was a child, he wouldn't be surprised if Mrs. Harlow simply put her to bed in her own home — no questions asked. The woman was a saint, looking after his sister the way she had when their father had left them.

That was it. He'd start at the Harlow home — it being the closest location — and work his way out. No sense on starting a manhunt on the far reaches of town if she'd only decided to stay with the Harlow's for the night.

Making his way down the stairs he headed into the sitting room to fetch his woollen scarf from the peg behind the door for this walkabout he was about to start. He could smell the rain in the air, and wasn't about to get chilled to the bone just because his sister couldn't follow the damn rules.

Muttering obscenities under his breath, cursing the ground his sister walked upon, Tommy pushed open the door separating the kitchen and the sitting room and stopped dead in his tracks.

There, in front of the fire, sleeping soundly as if she hadn't sent his mind into a whirlwind, was his devil of a sister. Curled up on the sofa, one arm outstretched, and on the floor lay a book that had clearly fallen from her hand as she drifted off.

Taking in a deep breath he quietly shuffled his feet, trying carefully not to make a sound as he moved slowly to the overstuffed chair. Sitting down, he let the full weight of his body sink into the cozy seat beside the fire before softly chuckling at the unnecessary drama he'd nearly caused. Had he gone out the back door without his winter garment, he'd be storming all of Small Heath for absolutely no reason whatsoever, in search of a girl that had — for once in her life — actually followed his orders.

Maybe Polly was right — maybe Charlie's penchant for hell raising didn't fall far from the tree. Maybe he was the inspiration for her dramatics — not that he'd ever admit it to the woman.

Rubbing his hands over his face he closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of the room. He understood why Charlie must've fallen asleep here. With the door shut, the curtains drawn, and the fire blazing, this was the warmest, cosiest room in the house.

One could almost follow suit.

It wouldn't be too difficult to doze off...

If he just cleared his mind...

He could...

Just...

Slip...

Right...

"Tommy?"

Christ.

"Mmmmhhmm?" Maybe she wasn't really awake. Maybe if he sat still with his eyes closed, she'd leave him be. Then they could both drift off in the warm room that smelled like soot, dried flowers, and freshly baked bread.

"What are ya doing?"

Fucking hell. She was awake, and now so was he.

"I could ask you the same." Opening his eyes and straightening himself from his slouched position in the arm chair he added, "You were supposed to be in bed."

Tommy watched as her brows furrowed in confusion, then looking around the room, it suddenly dawned on her that she wasn't in bed at all, "Oh, sorry." Sitting up on the sofa she pulled her blanket up with her, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

She was always like this just after waking up — never sure where she was, slow to swim to the surface of her newly awakened mind. It always took her far too long to come to the realisation that she was both awake and in whichever location she had found herself in. Tommy was certain it came from all those nights sneaking out to go riding in the dark. If she didn't manage to sneak back in, she'd be found the next morning sleeping out in the fields, or in the stables covered in hay.

Tommy could remember one morning, maybe eight years ago — it hadn't been long after Charlotte and Ezra had headed out on their adventure to Stonehenge — when he'd been woken from a deep sleep by his aunt. Polly was absolutely frantic at the empty bed she'd discovered in Charlotte's room, not ten minutes earlier. After searching the betting shop, back alley, and all other rooms in the house, she'd finally come to Tommy to announce the absence of the youngest Shelby.

"Did you check under her bed? She's taken to sleeping there — says it's her secret spot." Tommy questioned stretching the sleep from his body. "Of course I checked there, Thomas. Only books. Stacks and stacks of books, but not a sign of Charlotte."

"You ask Ada?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course I asked Ada. Last she saw Charlotte was when the two went to bed last night.

"Alright, Polly. I'll find her. Just give me a second, will ya?" Nodding at him Polly hurriedly and worriedly rushed from his room. Taking his time, Tommy had gotten dressed, cursing his sister for her newest act of defiance. Or as she probably saw it — her newest grand adventure.

After promising his aunt that he wouldn't return home without the devil herself at his side, Tommy found himself starting down a Watery Lane — his first stop would be the yard. She'd been begging him to take her for a ride the past few days, but he'd been too busy to oblige. Maybe she'd taken an early morning stroll and convinced Curly or Uncle Charlie to set her up to ride. Her influence over the two older men was nothing short of magical. Uncle Charlie had often lamented how much Charlotte reminded him of his sister, with her wild blonde curls, infectious laughter, and they way she trailed after her big brothers — wanting to be one of the fellas.

Grinning over the way Charlie had managed to wrap their uncle around her little finger, Tommy wasn't surprised in the slightest when nearly halfway to his uncle's yard Curly came barreling around the corner. When the older man spotted him, and began hollering his name. "Tommy! Tommy! Charlie says to come. It's–"

Interrupting the man's somewhat panicked story, Tommy kept his voice even when he questioned, "Is it our Charlie girl, Curly?"

Giggling, Curly nodded in confirmation adding, "She's all penned up, can't get out." Then turning and running back to the yard, Curly was off, leaving Tommy to trail after him.

After arriving at the yard, Tommy headed straight for the horses — he'd guessed correctly. She'd finally taken matters into her own hands, and gone out for a ride on her own. Her recent obsession with the creatures was something he understood well, but he wasn't quite sure what Curly meant about her being penned up. Whatever it was, one thing was certain — Polly would have her hide. The woman was not one to tolerate any sort of nonsense from his sister — something that their uncle and their aunt frequently went toe to toe over.

Uncle Charlie was of the opinion that Charlotte was only a child and allowances should be made for her wild nature. While Polly felt that unless Charlie Strong was the one out chasing after their niece when she took to her fancies, he didn't get a say in the matter.

Ultimately when the day was over, Tommy was technically her sole guardian, responsible for the girl in all aspects of life. They all knew this, even Charlotte, but Tommy was more than happy for the help offered by the family. And here he was fulfilling his duties as guardian and older brother to Birmingham's most stubborn child.

Marching into the stables, Tommy saw his uncle and Curly standing outside one of the stalls. However, his sister was nowhere to be seen.

"Where is she?"

Nodding to the stable his uncle beckoned him closer, "Come see for yourself."

Reaching the stall Tommy had to hold in a laugh at the sight in front of him. Charlotte sat in the far corner, nestled into a pile of hay, her favourite horse laying at her side. But instead of the happy wild child that was her norm, Charlotte sat with her clothes mussed, arms crossed, faced pinched, anger rolling off of her in waves.

Trying to keep his mirth under control he asked no one in particular, "Well, what's going on here?"

The angry voice from the far corner drew his attention back to his sister, "Uncle Charlie said I could either escape the way I entered or I had to stay here until you or Arthur or John or Aunt Polly came for me."

"Is that so?" This time the question was aimed at his uncle.

Nodding in confirmation, Uncle Charlie had no qualms about letting his own grin show over this situation. "I felt it was a fitting punishment for the little weasel."

From the far corner a roar of high pitched indignant anger filled the barn, "I am NOT a weasel!"

Turning to Charlotte at her angry outburst Tommy informed her, "You're absolutely right, Charlie. A weasel would be able to escape this. Looks like you're an ass, locked up in a pen."

Taking to her feet at the accusation, Charlotte stomped her way across the small enclosed space, stopping just in front of the sliding stable door, where she promptly reached down to gather a fistful of hay and dirt in both hands. Standing upright with fury written across her face she threw the improvised weapon in his direction, shouting, "You're an ass, Thomas Shelby!"

Once again, Tommy had to stifle a laugh as he watched her makeshift weapon of hay travel a distance of barely an inch — not even close to reaching him, her intended target — and simply float to the ground like a fluttering feather. As Charlotte watched the hay drift and flit through the air her rage seemed to swell within her. When she turned her face up to see him attempting to suppress his laughter, her anger erupted like a boiling pot of water and she lifted her face to the ceiling, letting out an animalistic shriek that caused the horses to whinny and mill about in anxiety.

As Tommy watched the temper tantrum — Charlotte's face red, her fists clenched, and eyes locked tight — he had the sudden thought that she might just have a stroke, or a heart attack, or an aneurysm — right here in front of him, at the age of seven.

Tommy tried to be patient as Charlotte's breath grew faint and the wail died down. But when she bent at the waist and inhaled deeply, he realised she was clearly amping up for round two of this screaming tantrum.

This was no longer amusing. In fact, this was now teetering on infuriating. This needed to stop immediately.

Raising his voice he allowed himself to channel the strict fierceness of his Aunt as he spoke over the echoing neighs and musings of the anxious horses surrounding them, "Charlotte Shelby! If you so much as think about howling like that once more, I will jump this fence and take that riding crop to your backside."

At his threat Charlotte closed her mouth and opened her eyes, taking the opportunity to size up his threat. They both knew he didn't mean it. But Charlotte wasn't a stupid child; she was smart enough to know she might not get the crop, but she'd be getting something.

Once again crossing her arms she seemed to deflate muttering, "Fine."

Mimicking her gesture, Tommy crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, "Fine? That's what you have to say to me? You nearly caused a stampede with all that racket, and all you have to say is, 'fine.' Well isn't that something?"

Clearly unable to tolerate the sibling squabble a moment longer, Uncle Charlie interrupted their banter to inform, "The key to the lock is on the hook there. Feel free to let the little weasel out when you feel she deserves her freedom. We've got work to do." Then motioning Curly to his side, the two left the stables to tend to the other work in the yard. Charlotte unable to take the comment in stride jumped in the air in attempt to holler after their Uncle, "I am not a weasel!"

Turning to the pent up child, Tommy warned, "No more shouting. I mean it." Then, watching as her vibrato melted away he paused a moment before finally questioning, "Right then, how'd you get stuck in there?"

"I didn't mean to get stuck. It was easy to get in — there's a trunk there by you, where all the old rope is kept, and all I had to do was step on that, then boost myself up and over."

"And why didn't you come out?"

Defeat filling her voice she mumbled, "I forgot to unlock the gate before climbing over, and there's no trunk of this side."

And I can't get onto Annabelle without help — I'm not tall enough. And the walls are too high for me to reach the top."

"You didn't think ahead — realise that maybe you'd get stuck with the gate locked on the wrong side?"

"No..."

"Of course you didn't." Shifting his weight, he questioned further, "How long have you been stuck in here?"

Shrugging her shoulders, she didn't look at him when she replied, "Dunno..."

"Don't lie to me, Charlie..." That would be her first warning.

Looking to her hands, she picked at her fingernails, mumbling, "Not long."

"Charlotte..." His voice grew cold with his second warning.

Still not looking at him she continued to fidget, "Only a little while."

Jesus fucking Christ, this kid had some kind of pathological aversion to the truth. "If the next thing that comes outta your mouth isn't the God's-honest-truth you'll regret it."

Growling in frustration she finally gave in, "Since last night." Throwing her arms out she glared at him, clearly amping up for another temper tantrum.

Keeping his voice level, he warned, "Watch it." Then continuing his interrogation, he questioned, "When last night?"

Turning her back to him she let her arms sway from side to side as she made her way to the opposite end of the stall to sit next to Annabelle, "Not sure." Then, still with her back to him, she rested her body against the horse, cuddling into the beast, signalling her boredom with his questioning.

She was testing him again. Pushing the limits on what he'd let her get away with. Rather than threaten or argue her lie, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and match. Taking his time lighting up, he waited for her to voluntarily tell him the truth. Letting the silence settle in for nearly ten minutes, he gave himself a chance to finish his smoke, before finally informing, "I can do this all day, Charlie."

Shifting against the horse, she rolled her body to face him, "Fine. I went through the window right after Arthur left out the back door. So... whatever time that was." Still leaning against Annabelle, Charlotte reached up and began to braid the horses' mane. She might as well have to him to fuck off and leave her be.

Her attitude was getting away from her, he needed to nip this in the bud before she let herself get outta control. Snapping his fingers he drew her eyes back to him. Leaning against the stall door, he pointed to a spot directly in front of him on her side of the barrier, wordlessly demanding her presence.

When she crossed her arms and deepened her glare, refusing to obey, he raised his voice, "Get your ass over here, Charlotte. Right. Now."

Huffing like a horse she rose to her feet, balling her fists, and stomped her way to the spot he was still pointing to.

"Let me get this straight. I put you to bed at eight o'clock, Arthur came up to kiss you goodnight right after that. Then you waited an entire two hours until he was gone before sneaking out. And you've been here ever since?"

"Yes." She brandished the word like a weapon, whipping it at him.

"So you planned this?" It was more of a statement than a question, but she answered anyway.

"Yes." Her face was pinched and self righteous anger flowed from her, but she was answering him.

"Anything else you would like to share with me before we go home?"

Taking no time to think about her response, she quipped, "No." She clearly wanted this to be over as much as he did.

Reaching for the key hanging between the stalls, Tommy sighed, "Well, come on then. Time to go home and face Polly."

Unlocking the gate, and sliding the stable door open, Tommy motioned for Charlotte to exit so he could lock up after her. However the little weasel suddenly decided she didn't want to leave, "No. I don't wanna."

Throwing his hands in the air, Tommy tried to keep from yelling at her, "Does it look like a have two fucks to give for what you want to do right now?"

Pausing at his question, she looked him up and down, assessing him in a peculiar fashion before honestly responding, "I don't know how many fucks you have." Then pressing on she whined out, "But I really don't wanna go home."

"Get out of that stall right now, or you'll have me to deal with before Polly gets her hands on you."

Hanging her head she dragged her feet, taking her sweet time walking the three feet it took to clear out of the stall. As Tommy slid the door closed, Charlotte's timid voice reached his ears, "She mad?"

Nodding, Tommy confirmed her fears, "You better believe it."

Reaching up to chew on her fingernails she continued, "Am I gonna get a thrashing?"

"Probably." There was no point in lying to her. She was at an age where she needed to learn that there were consequences to her actions. He couldn't save her from Polly's wrath every time she got a harebrained idea to run off on some sort of adventure.

Suddenly her attitude was gone, and Tommy was surprised when she rushed forward to take hold of his hand, tugging on his arm as she whined and plead, "Will you tell her not to? Please? She listens to you. Please, Tommy?"

Shaking his head at her, Tommy didn't speak as he took a firm hold of her hand and began dragging her behind him, making his way out of the barn, through the yard, toward their home.

There was absolutely no way he'd be able to spare his sister from their aunt at this point, and there was no point in giving her any hope she'd be so lucky. And besides all that, she deserved everything that was coming her way — she had to learn one way or another.

When he failed to respond to her request, she tried again, this time explaining herself in greater detail, "I didn't mean to be out all night. I swear it. I was planning–"

Stopping in the middle of the street, Tommy turned to her, interrupting as he firmly explained, "it doesn't matter if you meant to or not — you were still out all night, weren't you?" No response. "Answer me, Charlie."

Grumbling, she replied, "If that stupid lock hadn't been there–"

Interrupting her once again he took hold of her shoulders, and knelt down so they were eye to eye, "But it was. And if you'd only taken a moment to think ahead you would've remembered it was there before you pitched yourself over the side of the stable, isn't that right?"

Pouting at him she nodded, clearly trying to get him to feel sorry for her, "I just forgot." The Shelby women were masters of manipulation and an entire Pandora's box of emotions.

Refusing to give in to her manipulations he lectured, "So you snuck out and you were gone all night. That's two bad things, in only one night."

"Bloody hell..."

Flicking her on the nose he chided, "Watch it. We've talked about you minding your language. Cursing is for when you're grown."

Sighing at him she let her shoulders sag, "Are you mad at me?"

"A little. I was worried." It was the truth. Not as worried as Polly, but he was still mildly concerned.

"I'm sorry." It was an honest apology.

Reaching forward he sighed as he took hold of her face in his hands, "I know you are. But just like last time, you can't go off adventuring without us knowing. Sneaking off in the middle of the night — you're too young for that. You can't go doing it."

Dejected she sighed, "When will I be old enough?"

Standing up straight he reached for her hand once again, "Not for a very long time."

Sighing and solemnly looking at him as if he just shot her horse, she wordlessly nodded at him. Jesus, she was pulling at his heart strings with that miserable face. He knew exactly what she was doing — Ada had taught her every little thing she knew about getting her way with him and Arthur — but at this early hour he had no will power in him to stay off her emotional manipulations.

Instead of staying firm and stern with her he cracked a grin and hugged her close, "Or at the very least — you gotta to get better at sneaking around. Can't let Aunt Polly know you're gone, so you gotta be home before anyone wakes up. And you can't forget about the locks on the doors either."

Sighing at the memory he realised that his joking piece of brotherly advice — given in a moment of weakness — was something that he'll regret saying until the day he dies.

That one little joke that she took to heart has caused so much frustration in both of their lives — if only he'd kept his damn mouth shut.

Interrupting his journey into the past Charlotte's voice coming from the sofa made him focus. And as if the change was occurring right before his eyes, he saw the loud scrawny little seven-year-old transform into the boy-ish, strong willed, beauty curled up on the sofa before him. Jesus, she was growing into her looks — just like Ada had.

Fuck. That realisation wasn't something he'd prepared himself for. Shaking his head to clear the unsettling thoughts he listened to his sister's apology.

"Sorry I didn't make it to bed. I was planning on it." Then giving him a grin she added, "But at least I'm home."

"That you are." Rolling his eyes at her low standard for success, he had to give it to her — she had been home before he was.

"What time is it?" Looking at him, Charlotte nodded toward the watched he kept on a chain in his pocket.

Shaking his head, he announced, "It's time for bed. You've got school in the morning." Watching as she rolled her eyes at him, he instructed further, "Pick up that book, and let's go." Standing, he reached a hand out, ready to help her up, "Come on. Up you go."

Yawning and whining as she made her way to her feet, Tommy ushered his sister out of the sitting room and toward the stairs.

"You know, I almost had the whole army of blinders out looking for you just now?"

Stopping in her tracks, Charlotte turned to him, "What? Why? I left the key–"

Cutting off her panicked explanations, he laughed lightly and pushed her forward — urging her forward through the kitchen, "You weren't in bed. Thought you'd stuck the key out back, then headed off again."

"What? Don't be ridiculous, I'd never do that."

Scoffing, he raised an eyebrow at her. They both knew that it wasn't that far fetched of an idea. Mimicking a scoff back at him, she explain herself further, "I'd at least wait for you to come home. Probably wait until you'd seen me in bed, then I'd head out after you shut your door."

Mumbling out loud he noted, "Good to know." Continuing on as if she hadn't heard him she ranted, "Only leaving the key? And not waiting? That'd be stupid."

Teasing, Tommy questioned, "As stupid as heading north out of Birmingham aiming to visit Stonehenge, and thinking you'll be back that night?"

"That's not fair–"

Pestering her further he continued on, "Or as stupid as thinking you'd be able to hide a pet duck in your wardrobe?"

"I was six years old! That's not fair!" Reaching the entrance to her room she spun to face him, "And besides, it took you lot two whole days to figure out I was a hiding duck in my room. So technically, I was able to hide the duck — just not for as long as I'd have liked."

Mocking her he agreed, "Right. You're the real genius in the family." Kissing the top of her head he spun her by the shoulders and pushed her through the doorway, "And true geniuses make sure they're well rested and ready for school."

Turning as she closed the door, he headed to his room hearing her call after him, "Load of shit, that is."

When Charlotte heard his door shut, she looked to the clock on her mantle — not quite two in the morning.

She hadn't needed to rush with the boys in the band after all.

Their practice hadn't been quite as successful as she'd hoped, but they'd been able to catch up on life and teach Johnny Dogs a few of the new American songs from Theo.

She had arrived at the Black Lion out of breath and fingers numb from the cold December air. As she rushed into the Irish pub from the cold, Charlotte waved to the barman and headed straight towards the back room when she knew the boys would be waiting for her.

Making a grand entrance she smiled as four sets of eyes focused on her, "Alright boys, we don't have all night, so let's get started!"

"Oi! You're the one that's late little lady." Joking as if to lecture her, Johnny Dogs made his way towards her, enveloping her in a hug. "Yeah, well, you've got Tommy to blame for that." As Johnny released her from his embrace she moved to take off her coat and cap. "We've also got Tommy to blame for the short time frame tonight."

Questioning from his spot on the other side of the room, Jessup spoke up, "Why's that then?"

"He's got some sort of meeting out of town and won't tell me when he'll be home — I think it's some sort of test."

Straightening herself she lowered her voice, adjusted an invisible tie and gave her best threatening Tommy Shelby impression, "You best be home by the time I get back... Or else!"

Stepping forward, Theo took her cap and coat from her, hanging them on the rack near the door. "Well, if we don't have much time, let's get this party started then." Walking away from the coat rack he turned to an instrument case and pulled out a small stringed instrument. Turned back to her he questioned, "You wanna take a crack at the banjolin this time, Charlie?"

Looking down to her welted hands she fumbled over her words in an attempt to explain why she wouldn't be able to play any instruments at the moment, "Oh... Well... You see... There was an... Incident..."

Laughing from the far table Jessup piped up, "An incident? Is that what we're calling it?"

"Fuck off Jessup."

Still smirking at her, he continued, "Well, you're gonna have to tell them the truth of it."

Ezra, finally making his way into the conversation questioned, "What are you on about, JP?"

Pointing to Charlotte, Jessup demanded, "Well, Charlie... Show 'em your hands."

Presenting her hands to the group, she tried to defend herself, "Right, well... It's not that big of a deal–"

Interrupting her explanation Johnny blurted out, "Christ, Lottie. What did ya do to earn those stripes?"

Laughing from his seat Jessup took the opportunity to explain for her, "She told a teacher he needed to be more fucking interesting." Laughing at the wide-eyed looks of their friends, Jessup couldn't help blurt out, "It was bloody brilliant, you should've seen her."

Shaking his head at her, a crooked grin sliding across his face, Johnny questioned, "Your Auntie know about this yet?"

"No, but Tommy does. So it's fine." Shrugging at his accusatory look, Charlotte moved to sit at the table with Jessup.

Following after her, Johnny couldn't help but lecture, "You make sure you keep those from blistering–"

Cutting him off, Charlotte teased, "Johnny, you're more of a mother than Tommy and Polly combined."

The group chuckled and Johnny defended himself pointing to her with a swinging motion of his hand, "Well, look at you! You need all the mothering you can get!"

Rolling his eyes, Ezra finally took charge of the small group, "All right, all right. That's enough. We came here to practice — let's do it, eh?"

Settling down, the group got down to business creating a set list and making plans for one more practice session before their show at the Commons.

Charlotte wasn't exactly sure how she would manage to slip away undetected for both events, but for now her thoughts lingered on sleep.

Falling into her bed she hoped that Ada's offer to tell Tommy she needed help with Karl held true, and she'd have no problem slipping away from a night of singing with her mates.

Reaching to her side table for her song book, Charlotte began to scribble down words that floated through her mind as she let herself drift off to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Charlotte was awaken by a pounding on the door and Tommy's voice ordering her up to start the day.

Opening her eyes, she let herself slowly adjust to the new day. Looking around the cluttered room, she saw that the sun had broken through the clouds and a small beam of dust filtered light shown through her window and on the foot of her bed.

Lifting her head from her pillow, she peeled away the song book that had gotten stuck to her cheek and examined the exhausted, sleep-riddled words she'd written there.

"...Then hate me so good that you can let me out of this hell when you're around..."

"...I had a vision of how our life would be, rolling like a river peaceful, wild and free..."

"...The world is such a crazy place, full of joy and pain. What would I do without you here to keep me sane..."

"...Nothing can change what happened to you, the tears and the pain that you struggled through. But hard as you try to keep it inside, you just make it worse by trying to hide..."

There was some potential there.

She'd have to share the new lyrics with Johnny or Ezra to see what their thoughts would be, but she was hopeful that they'd be able to salvage something from her scribbled nonsense.

Setting the book to the side she stretched and rolled her eyes as Tommy's voice hollered at her from the bottom of the staircase, "Hurry it up! The kettle's on."

Rushing thought her morning, Charlotte soon found herself sitting at the table, sipping her tea, watching as her brother place a piece of buttered bread along with a boiled egg on a plate, handing it off to her before repeating the process for himself.

As the two sat in silence, picking at their respective plates, Charlotte felt the sudden need for some insight into Tommy's activities the previous night, "You were out late last night." Looking to see if he'd respond Charlotte grew disappointed as he simply nodded his head, cramming the bread into his mouth. Pressing him a bit more she tried, "What was it you were up to?"

Shaking his head as he swallowed his bite of bread, he began to inform her, "Charlie, it's not–"

But before he could finish, she was interrupting with her own mocking tone, completing his sentence for him, "It's not legal business." Making a face at him she threw her arms in the air to emphasise her frustration.

Nodding at her he informed, "That's correct." Finishing his bread he pointed to her own plate of food, silently instructing her to eat, before rising from the table and moving to make his way into the shop.

Trying to keep her frustration under control, Charlotte snapped at Tommy's retreating back, "You know I can handle the illegal stuff, right? I'm not a child."

Turning back to her he tried to explain, "It's not about–"

Not letting him finish, she continued, "You know I can take care of myself. I've got me gun and knife — and you've seen what I can do to a man with both in my possession."

Trying again to explain, he raised his voice in an attempt to be heard over her ranting, "Charlie, it's no–"

Continuing right on over him her voice grew louder, "I'm a better fighter than Arthur–"

A laugh burst out of him at that, "Not likely–"

Growling in frustration, she conceded, "Fine. But I'm a better fighter than John."

"With your fists–"

Continuing to interrupt him, she rattled on, "I'm smarter than he is too."

"You're smarter than the lot of–"

"I can think and work faster than both of them."

Raising his voice to stop her from interrupting him, he yelled, "Enough! Stop it!" Taking a breath and lowering his voice he continued, "It's not about any of that, Charlie. I have a responsibility."

"Oh yeah, that's it? Really?" She was mocking him. "It's your responsibility to me that has you living the life of a gangster all around me, but never letting me participate?"

"It's my responsibility to make sure you grow up right. Better than the rest of us–"

Once more interrupt him she pleaded, "But I don't want to be better than the rest of you! I'm perfectly happy being exactly like you."

"I know you are. But I'm not. Polly's not. Uncle Charlie's not." Then taking a deep breath he held it in for just a moment before breathing out, "And our mother never would've wanted this for you."

Crossing her arms she glared at him, "You can't know that."

Narrowing his eyes he coldly informed, "Yes, I can."

Pausing to consider his words she replied, "That's not fair to use her against me like that."

"You're right. But I'm not sorry — I'm tired of having this discussion." Running his hand through his hair he sighed, exhausted with this argument, "For now, at least, you're staying out of it."

Once again he turned his back to her, wishing that she'd take the hint and move along.

"'For now'? What's that mean?"

Rounding on her, he raised his voice as he explained, "It means that you're thirteen fucking years old, and for now you're going to follow the rules, stay in school, stay outta trouble, attend family meetings, and do the perfectly legal job that's expected of you for the Shelby Family Limited." Shocked into silence at his outburst, Charlotte sat still simply glaring at him — as if she could change his mind with an angry look. Choosing to ignore her teenage dramatics he signalled the end of this argument, "Now, aren't you late for school?"

Literally growling at him, Charlotte pushed herself away from the table, and snatching her cap and coat off of the table she headed toward the sitting room, all the while mumbling obscenities at him under her breath.

As she started to make her way through the sitting room, Tommy suddenly remembered his plan for this afternoon.

"Charlie! Wait–" He wasn't able to finish as the front door slammed closed so fiercely that the dishes on the table rattled ever so slightly.

Following in her footsteps her swung the door open, hollering after her retreating figure, "Charlotte! Family meeting after school! You come straight home." Pausing he watched as she continued to walk away, waiting for some sort of acknowledgement from her. When she marched on with so much as a wave in his direction he hollered, "Charlotte! Do you hear me?"

Turning her face over her shoulder she didn't slow her pace as she shouted back, "Family meeting! Fuck off!"

Shutting the door he threw himself into the nearby armchair, and pinching the bridge of his nose he tried to stay off a headache that had Charlotte's name written all over it. How proud their mother would be. She'd pat him on the back before asking, "What the hell are you teaching my baby girl, Thomas?" She'd then box his ears before making her exit — he just knew she would.

* * *

Fingers drummed a steady and repetitive sound on the table as Tommy paced back and forth in front of the kitchen fire. Trying to ignore the steady tapping thuds that was starting to cause a dull ache in the back of his skull, Tommy pulled his watch from his pocket, checking the time — half past four. Both Ada and Charlotte should've both been here thirty minutes ago.

Typical.

Turning to his aunt, he couldn't hide the frustration in his voice, "Where are they?"

Sighing at him, she began as of lecturing a school boy, "Thomas, if I knew where either of your sisters were at any given moment, I'd not have grey hairs sprouting at my temple." Taking a drag off of her cigarette Polly flicked her ashes to the ground, adding, "I'm much too young to look damn old."

Sighing at his aunt's dramatics, Tommy turned to his uncle, "Uncle Charlie? Curly? You seen her today?"

"Sorry Tom, I didn't check the barn before we left." His uncle turned to Curly, waiting to see if the burly man would have anything to say, when he simply shook his head, Uncle Charlie shrugged and Tommy sighed.

Deciding to get at least a bit of business taken care of while they were held up by their sisters' tardiness, Tommy stopped his pacing. He had been hoping Charlotte would be here for this, so he could facilitate a nonviolent cease fire between his siblings, but as he should've expected, she was late. Reaching for the closest chair, Tommy took a seat, "Well, I'll give them all a few more minutes. But in the meantime — John–" Snapping his fingers, Tommy demanded his brother's attention.

Snapping his head up from his daydream John halted the finger drumming and looked to Tommy, "What?"

"Lay offa Charlie. She's got a lot going on, and she doesn't need you picking fights."

"I'm not–" He tried to give an innocent rebuttal, but Tommy was having none of it, "Sure fucking seems like it to me. That shit you pulled at the Garrison — grabbing her by the wrist. You bruised her up again, I saw it meself. So just fucking back off. And apologise"

"Right. I'll talk to her."

Leaning in, Tommy rested his elbows on the table as he raised a finger at his brother, "No fights."

Holding his hands up in defence, John agreed, "No fights." An uncomfortable silence fell upon the family sitting around the table as John returned to tapping his fingers on the wooden surface. He shifted in his seat, a firm look of determination written across his face, clearly amping up to say something else. After nearly a minute of John's squirrelly behaviour, Tommy couldn't take it anymore, "What is it, John?"

That was all the pushing John needed, "She just seems to be taking a lot of risks lately."

Scoffing, Tommy informed, "I'll be the judge of that."

Pushing through Tommy's power play of being Charlotte's guardian, John continued, "I just got a feeling... Something bad is comin' her way. There's something not quite right. I can feel it."

"You can feel it?" Tommy scoffed, rolling her eyes.

Getting defensive he spat back, "Yeah, I can — in me bones."

Shaking his head at the superstitious gypsy nonsense his brother was spouting, Tommy sighed, "Spare me whatever it is in your bones, and just fucking apologise — make it right with her. I don't need you two at each other's throats. This business is taking up enough of my focus, and I need everything settled."

As Tommy finished speaking, the door to the main house opened cutting off any rebuttal John felt needed saying, and Ada's voice called out, "Where is everyone?"

"In the kitchen, love." Polly's slightly irritated voice called to his sister, "Come join the party."

As Ada and Freddie walked from the shop into the kitchen — bringing the chilled air in with them — Ada made her round of hugs and kisses as Freddie took a seat, a mild look of foreboding settling in on his features.

Taking the opportunity to point out their tardiness Tommy raised his voice over the chatter of greetings and welcomes, "Ada... Freddie... Lovely of you to join us. Have you seen–" He was gearing up to ask about Charlotte when John felt the need to take issue with Freddie's presence at the table.

"Why's he here, eh?"

"Why wouldn't he be here, you fool? He's my husband."

Then turning to Tommy as if he were a child John whined, "Why's her husband get to sit in, but my wife can't?"

Jumping in before he was able to get a word in otherwise, Ada let John have a piece of her mind, "Oh stuff it. You've known Esme for what? A few months?" Seeing where her point was leading to, John simply crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair, acting ever more like a child, "Freddie's been around our whole lives. He fought by Tommy's side in France. He helped save your ass not three days ago. And besides we've got news to share. So fuck off about your wife."

Leaning in at Ada's pronouncement of having news to share, Polly suspiciously questioned, "What's this about news then? Are you thinking about telling us that you've–"

Cutting off his aunt, Tommy interrupted, "Business first. Then family news." He waited as everyone around the table nodded in agreement before questioning his sister, "But first, Ada — you seen Charlie?"

Shaking her head, Ada took a seat at the table next to her husband, "Haven't seen her since the other night at the Garrison. Why?"

"She's late."

Waving off his concern, Ada stated the obvious, "She's late to everything."

"Says the woman who was thirty minutes late herself." Jesus, John just couldn't keep his mouth shut. Tommy opened his mouth to tell his brother to shut it, but once again — Ada got there before him.

"I have a child–"

Smirking at her reasoning John cut her off with his own point, "I've got three children — you don't see me strolling in late."

Scoffing at him Ada argued, "I'm a real parent, John. It takes time and energy. You should try it sometime." Well, she did have a point there. Ada was a whole hell of a lot more involved that John was with his kids.

"I'll have you know–" At the sound of John's voice getting increasingly louder, Tommy realised that the throbbing in his head was about to overtake him. This meeting needed to get going, "Enough! Shut up! Both of you."

At his outburst, John and Ada both muttered a contrite, "Sorry..." before giving each other one last withering glare. Children. He was dealing with children. "Now that you two are done, let's get started–"

"What about your sister? Isn't she an official part of this business now?" Fucking hell. Would these people let him speaking?

"Thank you for the reminder, Pol." Giving him a tense purse of her lips, Polly raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting some sort of response from him. What was she trying to prove here? He knew she was vehemently against Charlotte's participation in the family business, but he thought they'd moved past this, "I'll update her when she decides to come home. Does that work for you?"

"Not my call anymore, is it?" Holy hell, this woman was looking for a fight. She clearly had some opinions on her mind, but he wasn't in any mood to entertain her nonsense.

Ignoring her pointed jab at his insistence in taking over as Charlotte's guardian, Tommy got right to the point, "Right then. Business first. I've recently learned a new piece of information concerning our dear friend, inspector Campbell." Pausing to light a cigarette, Tommy took a deep breath before continuing, "The circumstances aren't entirely clear, but the inspector is headed back to Belfast after he was shot."

Arthur's voice seemed slightly suspicious, "When was this?"

"Just a few nights ago — at the train station."

"How did you come to be in possession of this information?" Polly's voice seemed accusatory, as if she knew he had something to hide.

Turning to his aunt he informed, "I spoke with some associates out of town last night who first delivered the news." Flicking his ashes to the ground he continued, "I then checked with our coppers on the payroll this morning, who confirmed the news."

"So why is it we're just now hearing about this?" Arthur had the right line of questioning. Who cares how he found out? What should be concerning is why they didn't find out sooner. You can't run a business without all the information.

"Apparently it was deemed top-secret by internal affairs, and kept very hush-hush."

"And why would that be?" Polly again, her voice indicating some sort of ulterior motive with her questioning.

"There seems to be an ongoing internal investigation. Because it appears he was shot by one of his own people."

Leaning forward, cigarette in hand, eyebrow cocked, Polly questioned coyly, "Anyone we know?"

Tommy met his aunt's gaze as she sat, a small smirk on her face, completely and entirely pleased with her correct assumption.

She was forcing him to come clean to the whole family. Charlotte and Ada were already away of the situation — Charlotte more so than Ada. But he hadn't shared much with his brothers. It wasn't a conversation he was interested in having; the whens, the whys, the hows, the feelings involved... He'd barely had time to come to terms with it all himself, he wasn't about to lay it all on the table, right here at this family meeting.

Clearing his throat he informed the family, "It was Grace — from the Garrison."

As the information settled in on his brothers, Tommy heard Ada's voice question, "That two-bit whore? She thinks she can do what she did–"

Interrupting his sister Tommy demanded, "Ada! That's enough. I don't want to get into–"

It was then that the pieces fell into place for Arthur, "You telling me that Grace was working for the coppers?"

Next was John's voice added to the chaos, "There's no way, Arthur. Don't be daft."

Jesus Christ. Charlotte was right — she was smarter than the lot of them put together.

As Arthur and John began to squabble between each other, Ada and Polly shared a knowing look, Uncle Charlie and Curly stayed quiet, and Tommy just wanted this to be over with.

It was then that the blessed voice of his uncle rose above the melee, "I think what he's telling you thick fools, is that Grace IS a copper. Was the whole time. Seems that she's beat town, but not before doing us the courtesy of shooting our beloved Inspector Campbell." Giving his nephew a nod, Tommy accepted the brief and simple explanation from his elder.

"Thank you Uncle Charlie." Looking to the group sitting around the table he asked, "Any other questions?"

His brothers were still baffled, but knew better than to raise any questions involving his own private affairs. His aunt on the other hand, didn't have such qualms, "And what about Grace?"

"What about her?" His voice was sharp. He was tired of this.

"Will she be facing any consequences for the role she played in betraying this family?"

Shaking his head he informed, "She's left the country. She's out of my reach."

Polly wasn't having it, "Horse shit. We know people–"

"I said no! We leave Grace out of it!" Composing himself as quickly as his bust of anger appeared, Tommy hastily added, "She did what she needed to do to survive. And she tried to take Campbell out as she left. As far as I'm concerned, it's over." Taking a breath Tommy let his cold gaze move around the room, almost daring each person he laid eyes on to question him about Grace. When the group maintained their silence he continued, "Now, onto family affairs. Ada? Freddie? I believe you have an announcement?"

Standing as Tommy took a seat, Ada cleared her throat nervously before speaking, "Well, as you all know, Freddie is not entirely a free man. And Birmingham can be a small town, full of people who know our faces." Pausing she nervously fiddled with the hem of her top as she made eye contact with Tommy. Nodding at her in confidence, Tommy urged her to continue. "Right. Well. Freddie and I are leaving for London. There's a newspaper there that's run by a friend of the cause, and Freddie will be writing a political column for them — under a pseudonym, of course." Seems that Tommy wouldn't have to get involved after all. His sister was all grown up, solving her own problems. He should find relief in that, but for some reason, it only made him sadder.

Tommy watched as Polly rose from her seat, tears filling her eyes, as she engulfed her niece in a warm embrace.

To his left, Arthur shifted in his own chair as he cleared his throat to speak, "We're sorry to see you go, Ada. Especially after we just got you back."

As Polly backed away, wiping her eyes she questioned, "How soon will you be going?"

Freddie took the opportunity to finally make himself known, "We'll be able to stay through Christmas." Reaching up to take his wife's hand, he pulled her into his lap as he continued, "We're hoping to get settled into a new flat by the new year."

Look around to the sad faces around the table Ada added, "And I'd appreciate it if you'd let me tell Charlie. I think it'll be better if she heard it from me."

As silence settled on the group, Tommy was once again reminded of his absent sister. "Right then, let's do this again in a few days. I'll make sure Charlie's here. And at that point I'd like to go over some company related purchases that I've been looking into."

Looking up at him at the mention of spending money, Polly snapped back to her previous attitude questioning, "What purchases, Thomas?"

Shaking his head, Tommy pulled out a new cigarette as he answered, "Not sure yet, Pol." Lighting up, and releasing a breath he added, "That's what the second meeting is for."

Rolling her eyes, Polly turned to leave, "We done here?"

Nodding at her without speaking, Polly turned on her heel and headed for the door.


	13. Chapter 13

A Mind to Tear a Soul in Two: Chapter Thirteen

* * *

Sitting in the overstuffed chair nearest to the fireplace, the only thing Charlotte could focus on was how cold she was. Shivering in her seat she bundled herself in a blanket and perched herself on the edge of the chair, reaching her hands towards the fire, inching ever so carefully closer to the flames.

It was strange — the fire was blazing, she was nearly touching the bright flames, but for the life of her she couldn't get warm.

Must be chilled to the bone.

When she had been a child Polly had always warned her about coming in from playing outside before she became chilled to the bone. "You'll catch a chill right to the bone, young lady! Now get yourself inside before you get sick."

The warning had come whether is was winter or summer, spring or fall. Causing Charlotte to be of the opinion Polly hadn't a clue what being 'chilled to the bone' actually entailed.

As she inched her hands even closer to the licking flames, scooting her bum to the very edge of her seat, a pounding on the front door to her left caused her to jump to her feet, nearly falling face first into the blaze of fire.

Without pause, the pounding continued on and on as Charlotte righted herself, smoothing her shirt into her trousers. Stepping around the sofa, Charlotte turned to her left, to look through the open doors that lead to the kitchen — and beyond that, the shop — checking to see if anyone else were on the house.

Rats. No one was at the table. She wanted to press on through the doors, to check the shop and Tommy's office, but her body wouldn't let her. She tried to force her body to lean in, but she couldn't make even the slightest movement in her desired direction. Then turning — as if unable to stop herself — Charlotte moved towards the door and the sound of the continuous pounding.

Pausing with her hand on the door handle she squeaked out, "Who's there?"

No response. Only the continued pounding.

Taking in a breath, she cleared her throat and repeated herself, "I asked you a question! Who is it?"

No answer from the other side of the door, but she did hear Tommy hollering from behind her, "Enough of that racket, Charlie! Make it stop before I come out there and do it meself."

Rolling her head she sighed at Tommy's threat. She wasn't even the one making the noise. Whoever this ass was pounding on their door was about to get a face full of her fist.

Swinging the door open, she found the words were leaving her mouth before she even recognised the figure, "What the fuck do you want?!"

"Can't a father take his own daughter out for a pint?"

Looking up into the towering figure's face she grew confused, "Da?"

His face came into focus and he grinned down at her, "The one and only, my girl."

She was frozen in place. She didn't remember him being so tall, last she saw him — back when Tommy was throwing him out of their house — he was about as tall as Arthur. But now he held the figure of a tree, towering over her, casting a shadow that engulfed her. She also had to stifle the sudden urge to inform him that she was not — nor had she ever been — 'his girl.' She had to admit that Tommy was right about one thing, their father had not been around to raise her. As much as she yearned to know him, he hadn't earned the privilege to call her 'his girl.'

Stuttering as her thoughts overwhelmed her, she questioned him, once again, "What– Why– How– I mean... What are you doing here?"

Chucking good-naturedly, her father informed, "It's me own house, ain't it? I've come home — I'm here to stay."

Shaking her head at him she tried to explain, "Da... I don't think Tommy wants you here." Looking down to pick at her fingernails she tried to explain the situation without hurting her father's feelings, "I don't think he considered this your home anymore."

That was a lie. She knew sure as shit Tommy didn't consider Watery Lane their father's home. Turning to look behind her, through the door to the kitchen, Charlotte checked to make sure Tommy wasn't following through on his threat to stop the racket himself. Tommy hated their father more than anyone else in the world, and if he found out their father was here, ready to move back in a play house like a happy family, she truly believed that Tommy would murder the man.

Looking back up to the man she started, "Da, you've got–" But he wasn't there anymore. She'd been speaking to thin air. Where the fuck had he gone? Sticking her head out the door she looked left and right, no sight of the man. Strangely, there wasn't a single person on the lane. No children running around playing chase, no queue of men ready to place bets, no factory men heading toward the Garrison for a pint. Just the quiet whisper of wind creating a cold and unwelcoming early December afternoon. No wonder there wasn't a soul on the lane — it was fucking cold out here.

Stepping back inside she hastily moved to close the door, turning to press her back against the surface for good measure. As the door clicked, locking into place, the sight before her had her gasping in shock. There, near the fire, warming his hands, was her father. "Holy hell! How'd you get over there?"

But before he could answer, Tommy voice came bellowing from his office, "Who was at the door?"

Yelling back at him she tried, "Em... It's no one. It's fine. I'm fine!" Pushing herself off of the snugly closed entrance, Charlotte moved to the sitting room door, reaching to close it in order to prevent her very deadly brother from barging in on their unwelcome house guest. However, before she could the damn thing, voices erupted to her front and back, distracting her momentarily.

At the same time, Tommy called out, "You're fine? Why wouldn't you be fine?" Her father bellowed as if he'd been on the receiving end of the highest injustice, "No one? So suddenly I'm no one?"

Shushing her father she turned to him — the door perched in her hand, nearly half way closed — and angrily informed, "Hush! Tommy can't know you're here!"

It was then that Tommy's voice — coming from his new location standing directly in front of her at the entrance to the sitting room — questioned, "I can't know who's here, eh?" Pushing open the partially closed door, it swung free from her hand and rattled as it bounced on its hinges against the opposite wall.

Turning to face her brother, doe-eyed and flustered, Charlotte was unsure how to explain this situation to her him. She opened her mouth to speak, searching for the words, but try as she might, not a noise escaped her mouth.

Watching as Tommy took in the sight of their father — now lounging on the chair she'd recently abandoned — Charlotte tried again to explain, but still nothing came out.

Trying and trying, Charlotte was certain she was doing an impressive impression of a fish out of water; opening and closing her mouth repeatedly, gasping in an attempt for any noise to come from her mouth.

The combined frustrations of her vocal incompetence and Tommy's next movement had Charlotte suddenly bursting into tears as her brother reached into his jacket — pulling out his gun from the shoulder holster hidden there. Aiming it at their father he demanded, "Get the fuck out. This isn't your home anymore. You've no family within these walls. No reason to be here."

"Oh son, let's not be dramatic–'

Cocking the gun, Tommy cut the man off, "No! I've told you before — you had your chance after Ma died, and you failed. You abandoned us. You don't get to come back, years later, when it suits you. When you left, it nearly destroyed us. Ada couldn't stop crying!" Pointing through the open door towards the round kitchen table, he continued, "She sat right there crying in the kitchen. For days, she couldn't move."

Not giving their father any room to speak, Tommy quickly pointed to herself, "And this one... She's afraid of the dark. Can't sleep on her own anymore."

That wasn't true, Charlotte loved the dark. When she was a child, maybe five or six years old, she recalled crawling into bed with Tommy or Polly, scared about the noises the monsters in the dark made. But she'd grown out of that phase long ago. For years her brothers would explain that there was no such thing as monsters, that the noises she was hearing was only their partially dismantled house creaking in the wind.

She remembered Tommy once explaining that, even if monsters were real, Arthur was far scarier than anything that could crawl out from underneath her bed. And if she could handle Arthur, then those monsters didn't stand a chance.

Today, she was no sooner disobeying Tommy or Polly's orders than had the sun dipped down below the streets of Birmingham. However, still unable to interrupt Tommy's lecture, Charlotte sighed as she listened to him rattle on, "And me? I was stuck here, gathering the pieces of this broken family. You broke our hearts. You shattered us!"

Deciding that even if she was able to speak her mind, Tommy wouldn't listen, Charlotte moved to her father. As she stepped away from Tommy, she felt the miraculous resurgence of her voice, "Da, please! You've got to go."

Tugging on his arm, she felt as if she were trying to drag a dead horse to its grave. He was refusing to listen, instead sitting still and silent with a smug smirk written across his face. Trying to stop her angry tears from falling she took a few furious deep breaths hoping to calm herself. When that didn't work she tried closing her eyes. Balling her fists, she took another deep breath and stomped her foot in frustration, "FUCK! Fucking FUCK! Am I invisible?"

Breathing heavily, eyes still closed, she stood still as a stone, unsure of her next move. Her royal tantrum just then hadn't given her any credence to demand she be treated as an equal, but she felt entirely overwhelmed at the moment.

It was then that Tommy's voice caused her to open her eyes. Meeting his own, she found his eyes were wild and bright with accusation, "Are you defending him?"

Looking to where her father had sat, she was surprised to find that he'd mysteriously moved to stand in the now open doorway once more. "No, I'm just–"

"Why are you defending him?" Tommy stood, arm outstretched, gun still cocked and pointed at their father — even in his new location at the door.

"God damn-it Tommy! I'm not defending–"

Cut off once again Tommy questioned, "You want to leave with him, then? Is that it?"

Incredulous, she stood staring wide-eyed as his question lingered in the air between them, "I didn't say that! I just don't want you to murder Da! It's that fucking simple!"

Turning once more to her father she questioned, "What are you still doing standing there? Go! Run!"

Still grinning from ear to ear he responded, "Go where? It's dark out. How am I supposed to find me way?"

Shifting her gaze to focus on the lane outside the door frame, Charlotte was surprised to find that it was indeed dark out. She could've sworn that it was only mid-afternoon when she'd opened the door. She suddenly felt like Alice, falling through the looking glass, something strange was happening here — but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

Shaking her head, Charlotte tried to rid herself of the topsy turvy feeling that had overtaken her. Looking up to face her father she moved quickly to stand before him. Reaching out with both hands she pushed and shoved his chest, trying with all her might to get him out of the door.

The logic in her scrambled brain was that, if Da was on the street, Tommy would have no reason to shoot the man. It was flimsy at best, but it was all she had at the moment.

Trying not to cry as she pushed at him, she demanded, "I don't care where you go or where you land. You just need to go. You need to run, before Tommy shoots you dead." As her father stood firm and unmoving she tried again to reason with the man, "He'll shoot you. He will! I watched him do it not five days ago. Right between the eyes. The man fell dead, and Tommy walked away without a second glance! Please! Listen to me. John and Arthur can tell you the same."

As of saying his name conjured him like a jinn, Arthur's voice had her questioning just where the hell he'd come from, "You need to get out the way, Lottie." Lottie? Arthur never called her that. That was what John had always called her. What the fuck was going on here?!

Turning to face her oldest brother as he stood beside Tommy she demanded, "Are you gonna let him do this Arthur? You just gonna stand there and let Tommy kill our father?"

Looking at her as if she were a child, unable to comprehend the grown-up matters that they were discussing, Arthur explained, "He's the one with the gun. What can I do? Tommy's made up his mind, and that's the way it's got to be."

Unable to keep her emotions in check any longer she screamed at her brothers, "Are you fucking kidding me right now? What is wrong with you?"

At her outburst she found Tommy's attention once more focused on her, "Watch your language." He spoke so calmly, so monotonously, she couldn't understand why — with a loaded gun trained on their father — Tommy was suddenly concerned with her colourful choice of language. Before she could question his chide, he was speaking again, "Get out of the way, Lottie. I don't want to hurt you. But I will if that's what it takes to get this devil out of our lives."

Incredulity filled her voice as she questioned the threat, "What the hell is that supposed to mean, Tom? You gonna shoot me to get to him?"

Raising his chin at her Tommy announced, "If I have to."

Look to Arthur for help she found that he had turned his back on them and was returning to the shop. He'd apparently decided to wash his hands of this decision. Scoffing at Arthur's cowardice, she turned her rage on Tommy, "He's not a devil, Tommy. You are. He may have abandoned us, but he's never hurt me the way you have. He's never threatened to shoot me. So fuck you, Tommy. FUCK YOU!"

"So be it." Tommy squared his feet and aimed his gun at her chest. Unable to move, Charlotte found she was less scared to face death than she thought she'd be. Looking her brother dead on the eye she screamed at him, "Do it!"

At the sound of the gun firing, Charlotte jolted, eyes closed, gasping for breath.

She was on the ground. But it didn't hurt. That was surprising.

She was cold, very cold. A fleeting thought crossed her mind as she wondered, is this what Danny felt like as he passed on, lying in a muddy puddle of water on Garrison lane? She hoped so — it wasn't so bad.

To her left she heard Tommy's voice saying her name. Now he regretted his decision? How typical. Wanting to take back his actions once it was too late.

"Seriously, Charlie. Open your fucking eyes." Wait a second, that wasn't Tommy. That was... Snapping her eyes open, Charlotte looked around. Jessup was kneeling beside her, not Tommy. When did he show up?

Looking up at his stupid, grinning face, Charlotte suddenly realised she wasn't home on Watery Lane — she was in an old barn, the one just past her Uncle's yard. This was where she and Ezra would meet for their planned adventures.

Reaching up to touch her chest she found no bullet wound, only hay and her heavy jacket.

Sitting upright her head spun and she questioned out loud, "What the fuck?"

"It's a trip, ain't it?"

"What?"

"The dreams... They're so strange. My cousin calls it Tokyo dreaming." Laughing at the still confused expression she must be wearing he questioned, "What was it about? Your dream?"

Dreaming? Whipping her head around to make sure she was where she thought she was, she reached up once more to check her chest for a bullet wound.

Dreaming.

She'd been dreaming. And with that revelation, her afternoon came rushing back to her memory.

After telling Tommy to fuck off, she'd met up with JP to begin the trek to school. Where she promptly began complaining about her brother's innate nature to be a complete and utter ass.

"You know, he's just exhausting. Trying to please him is entirely exhausting." Pulling her jacket tight around her body she tried to rid herself of the right fucking mood she'd settled into.

Stopping in her tracks as Jessup rounded on her, she couldn't help but grin at the plastered excitement written across his face. "What's got you so excited?"

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a few small vials of cocaine and proposed a change in their planned activities for the day, "I say we ditch school today. Let's head to the pictures. I've got two vials here for each of us. We can just blow the day away, not having a single worry in our minds."

Scoffing at him she questioned, "You know where Arthur's favourite place to go on his day off is?" Shaking his head at her as if he truly didn't know where her line of questioning was leading, he shrugged, "No?"

Rolling her eyes she informed, "The pictures, you dolt!"

Shoving past him she continued on her way to school, however she was forced to stop once more after only making it a few feet, due to the presence of her best mate impeding her path. "Come on! We'll sit in the back, even if he does show up, he'll never see us."

"No, that's too risky." Pushing past him once again, she assumed he was following as she continued on, "And besides, the last time I was at the pictures, it wasn't a pleasant afternoon. So, I'll pass."

Trying to call her out as of she were bluffing, Jessup questioned, "When was the last time you was at the pictures, eh?" Crossing his arms and smirking at her as if he'd just won some sort of prize, she rolled her eyes at his confidence.

"The last time was the day Tommy found out Ada got knocked up."

Falling in step with her, Jessup questioned, "And why was that so bad?"

"It just was."

Sighing at her, JP gave one more suggestion before giving up on their day out entirely, "How about we go to the old McDowell barn, out past your Uncle's yard?" Pausing Charlotte turned and squinted at the insufferable git, thinking over the idea. "No school, no brothers... Just you and me, a little snow, and whatever we want..."

Grinning at him, she finally gave in. Anything but school sounded nice today. "Alright you filthy gypsy — you're a bad influence on me — you know that?"

Scoffing at her Jessup teased, "Says the Shelby girl."

"What's that supposed to mean, eh?"

Grinning at her in response, Jessup simply turned on his heel, grabbed her arm, and began walking towards the McDowell barn. "Why don't you tell me about this last trip you took to the pictures, then?"

Rolling her head to the sky, Charlotte thought back to the day that had set the Shelby family's world spinning off its axis.

Sitting in the dark cinema Charlotte munched on her popcorn completely absorbed in the moving picture show before them. Nearly two hours earlier Ada and Polly had gotten into a row over Ada's plan for her newly discovered baby and learning the identity of the father. Storming out of the kitchen and into the sitting room Ada had nearly shouted at Charlotte that she'd be walking to the cinema, and if Charlotte would like to join, she'd be happy for the company — provided that there be no more discussion of babies and fathers.

More than happy for an afternoon free from the house and shop, Charlotte was all too eager to accompany her sister.

As she watched Rudolph Valentino lean in to kiss the hand of the woman on screen, a beam of light from a door opening in the back of the auditorium lit up the room for a split second before closing once again.

To her right Ada sighed, shifting in her seat, and muttered a quiet "shit" under her breath. Not wanting to miss a second of the picture she refused to take her eyes from the screen, but still attempted to ask her sister, "What is it?"

When Charlotte didn't get a response she tried once again, "What's the matter? When she still heard no response from Ada, Charlotte finally tore her eyes away from the scene playing out before them just in time to see Tommy angrily sit himself in the chair next to Ada.

As he took his seat, Ada finally answered her, "He's the matter."

"Shit." Polly must've told him. He was scary calm. This wasn't good.

Before either sister could speak another word Tommy's voice drew their attention. "Tell me the man's name, Ada."

Charlotte knew this wasn't going to end well. At his demand for Ada's biggest secret, the sister in question bristled in her seat. Staring dead ahead, Ada straightened her back and raised her chin, clearly preparing for a fight.

Trying to fold her body into the seat, Charlotte leaned back and watched the encounter as if Tommy and Ada we're playing out a scene on the big screen, rather than the film she'd paid to see.

Tommy's face was passive, he sat facing forward, refusing to look at either of them — he was all business. He sat expectantly, waiting for Ada to deliver the demanded information, as if this were any other day, in any other place, and he'd just asked her for the time.

Refusing to bend to his will, Ada didn't move a muscle as she too sat facing forward — face transformed to match Tommy's in a passive, all business, sort of anger.

The time it took for Ada to finally answer Tommy's question must've only been seconds — but to Charlotte it felt like an eternity. And when Ada did finally reply, Charlotte wasn't sure if she should laugh or wince at the smartass response.

Back still straight as a rod, chin tilted up, and jaw firmly clenched, Ada nonchalantly spit out, "Rudolph Valentino."

Charlotte waited for Tommy's anger to take over at Ada's response. Again, it felt like an eternity waiting for Tommy to do or say something — anything. But instead he sat there as if he hadn't heard a thing, staring forward, face unchanged. Time seemed to slowly come to a stop as both sisters sat still — one in anger, the other in near terror — waiting for their brother to respond.

When no verbal response came, but instead he silently rose from his seat and swiftly made his way out of the auditorium — loudly throwing the doors open on his way — the two sisters turned to each other concern and confusion written across both faces.

Quickly whispering to Ada, Charlotte questioned, "Does he not know who Rudolph Valentino is?" She wouldn't be surprised — Tommy had no interest in silly things like moving pictures or American celebrities. He could legitimately be marching out into the streets of Birmingham dead set on finding this 'Rudolph Valentino' that Ada had just named as her baby's father.

Raising her eyebrows and shaking her head in confusion Ada only told her, "I dunno, but that was too easy."

Agreeing with her sister, Charlotte couldn't help but ask the next obvious question, "What do you think he's gonna–"

However the question died on her lips as the film — that they were no longer watching — came to a fluttering stop and the lights to the auditorium came to life around them. As the audience began to murmur to one another about the sudden disturbance, Charlotte's eyes grew wide at the drastic power play, hoping that her sister would know what to do next. But instead of rising to the occasion, Ada seemed only to deflate, all fight leaving her body. Leaning her head against the back of the cinema seat, Ada sighed, and it was in that moment that Charlotte knew, this really wasn't going to end well.

So consumed in her thoughts, Charlotte nearly jumped from her seat at the sound of the auditorium doors once again banging on their hinges against the walls, followed by Tommy's angry voice shouting as he strode down the aisle back toward herself and Ada. "Get out! All of you — go on! Now!

This situation was tense enough, she wasn't going to wait to be told to leave a second time. Standing to take her leave with the rest of the audience members, Charlotte turned to her sister and whispered "Good luck." Before turning to her left and quickly moving to make her escape with the scarce mid-day audience.

"Not you, Charlie." She hadn't made it even three seats away from where she'd originally been seated when the sound of her name had her freezing in place.

Turning to face Tommy, she attempted to sputter out some sort of explanation for her movement in the hopes that he'd change his mind and let her escape whatever it was that was about to happen next, "But you said–"

Interrupting her, his face turned red with his command, "Sit down!"

At his shout Charlotte shut her mouth and sat her butt in seat number seven. She had no desire to make this very public situation worse for either herself or Ada. And she absolutely did not want Tommy's wrath focused solely on herself, rather than on Ada. She loved her sister — but she was on her own for this one.

As Charlotte took her seat, Tommy's cold gaze moved from one sister to the other as he calmly demanded, "I said, tell me his fucking name." Standing and breathing heavily, Tommy's face betrayed his calm voice, and Charlotte could see it was taking every ounce of self control he possessed to keep himself from ranting and raving at Ada in this moment.

Anxiety filled the room as Charlotte watched Ada. Still not looking to their brother, Charlotte could see Ada's exhaustion as she made the internal decision to give in to Tommy's demands. Her shoulders sagged, her eyes fluttered, and she breathed out a ragged breath. The truth would have to be told at some point — and Ada had clearly just decided that now would be the best time. Drawing her eyes from the now empty film screen Ada's head snapped to look at their brother, prepared to deliver the news that both girls knew Tommy's was absolutely not ready to receive.

"Freddie. Fucking. Thorne."

Tommy blinked. It was as if Ada had repeated the assertion that the baby's father was in fact film star, Rudolph Valentino.

Tommy blinked again. And the second he realised Ada was telling the truth, it was as if something inside him snapped. To any outsider looking in on the exchange it would seem as if nothing had changed in Tommy at all — but both Charlotte and Ada knew better.

They could see the fire in his eyes blaze cold and grow stronger. He was completely blindsided. This information was an absolute surprise — he hadn't had a fucking clue. And if there was one thing that Thomas Shelby hated more than anything else in the world, it was not having a fucking clue what was happening around him. Well, that, and Freddie fucking Thorne. The idea that his former best friend, and most recent enemy could be the father of his sister's baby was nearly beyond his realm of possibility.

Just goes to show that Tommy had nothing else on his mind other than the peaky blinders and the betting shop. If he'd paid even the smallest bit of attention to Ada's life and Freddie's participation in the Shelby family before the war, he could've easily seen that the two had been in love since they were children. Anyone could see it, they never really tried to hide it — until after the war. After the war was when everything changed.

Bringing her mind back to the present situation, Charlotte watched on as Ada continued to mockingly yell at Tommy, "Yeah. Your best mate since school!" Ada was clearly pleased with herself, catching Tommy off guard. It wasn't easy to do, that. Giving way to her emotions she continued yelling her lecture at him, "The man who saved your life in France! So go on! Go on!"

Clearly having heard enough from Ada, Tommy turned and began storming his way back out of the cinema as Ada continued to shout at him, "Cut him! Cut him up and chuck him in the cut!" As their furious brother reached the doors, he angrily pushed them open with enough force to take them off the walls. As the slamming noise echoed off the walls of the now empty auditorium, Tommy paused. Catching the doors swinging closed back in on him with one hand he turned and shouted, "Charlotte! Let's go, we're leaving!"

Surprised and shocked at his demand, Charlotte tried to argue from her spot in seat number seven, "What? Why? What did I do?"

Cutting off her argument Tommy yelled again, "Now!"

Standing up to yell back at him, her irritation over the injustice of the situation came boiling to the surface, "No! I didn't do anything wrong! I'm not the one that went off with Freddie and got pregnant. Why do I have to leave?"

Shouting back at her, all coolness gone from his composure Tommy informed, "You're leaving because I fucking said so. Now, move your ass before I come back there to get you meself!"

Opening her mouth to argue further, Charlotte was cut off by Ada taking hold of her arm, "Just go with him, Charlie. You're only gonna make it worse — for both of us."

Looking from Ada to Tommy, Charlotte clenched her jaw and shoving her bag of popcorn at her sister, she maneuvered her way into the aisle, angrily making her way toward Tommy — muttering under her breath the whole way.

"...Fucking bullshit..."

"...Punish me because you can..."

"...Not pregnant with some communist's baby..."

"...Interrupting a perfectly fine moving picture show..."

Finally reaching her brother, Charlotte yelped when he reached out and took hold of her arm, "Shut up and walk."

Storming forward through the cinema's entrance, dragging her along behind him, Tommy's grip was painful and unrelenting. "Tommy, let go. I can walk!" From behind her she could hear Ada yelling from the auditorium, "Oi! I'm a Shelby too, you know. Put my fucking film back on!" At least one of them would get to enjoy the rest of the afternoon.

Pushing his way through the doors of the cinema and making his way down the street, still dragging her along like some sort of doll, Charlotte finally tried to put on the brakes. Dragging her feet she tried to get Tommy's attention, "Tommy! Would you stop? Tommy!" Getting no response, she finally decided to take drastic measures. Balling her fist she hauled back and hit him right in his side, below his rib cage, where the breath would be pushed from his lungs. She wasn't able to get much force behind the punch — what with him dragging her — but it was strong enough to make him pause, turning to look at her with all the more rage in his eyes.

Before he was able to take the decent breath needed to shout at her, she was yelling at him, "You're hurting me! Let go of my arm! It fucking hurts." Yanking her arm in an attempt to gain her freedom, Tommy finally took note of what he'd been doing. Releasing Charlotte from his grasp she rubbed the place that he'd taken hold of and whined, "It's gonna bruise there — and I'm gonna tell Polly it was you."

Standing in the street, Tommy completely ignored her pain and childish threats of tattling to their aunt.

"You knew?" He wasn't shouting anymore, but he wasn't exactly calm either.

"I knew what?" She wasn't stupid. She wasn't about to volunteer information on the subject of their sister and Tommy Shelby's personal enemy — number one.

"About the baby? About Freddie?"

Of course she knew about both — she knew a lot more than anyone in the family have her credit for — but she sure as hell wasn't about to tell Tommy any of that. Shifting from foot to foot, Charlotte picked at her fingernails trying to decide what it would be that she was about to tell Tommy. She didn't want to outright lie to him — if he found out that would put her in more trouble that she was looking for this week. Looking around to see if there would be any witnesses to the murder Tommy was likely to commit, Charlotte decide to not actually say anything. Instead, she simply nodded in confirmation after seeing that there might be just enough people on the street to deter him from doing anything he'd regret — like strangling her in public.

Pinching his lips he glared at her before continuing on with his interrogation, "How long?"

"The whole time." Mostly. Her and Ada had shared a room at one point. And Ada was nothing if not long winded with the details of her love life.

Narrowing his eyes, clearly not satisfied with her answer, he repeated the question, "How long is 'the whole time', Charlotte?"

"I Dunno, Tommy... A long fucking time." She was over this line of questioning. She knew he was mad at Ada, and didn't want to go to her for the information he wanted. But she was tired of being raked over the coals for something she had nothing to do with. She was barely able to handle Tommy's questions and lectures when she was in trouble for something she had everything to do with, she wasn't going to stand here in the middle of the street taking the shit for Ada's troubles.

At her noncommittal answer, Tommy took a menacing step in her direction. "Answer the fucking question."

That was it. She was done with him bulling her to get his way. "Go fuck yourself, Tommy! Don't get mad at me for something that I wasn't even involved in!" Reaching out she lunged at her brother in anger, pushing him with both hands she tried to get her message across to him. At her shove Tommy' stumbled backwards, eyes blazing as she continued to yell. "She's the one that's pregnant — not me! She's the one sneaking out and staying with Freddie — not me! She's the one you're mad at — not me! So if you want answers, ask Ada. I'm not the one who messed up this time! So fuck off."

Turning away from him she started to storm off, only managing to get about twenty feet before his voice had her turning and marching in the opposite direction, "You can storm away from me if you want. But we're both going home. So either you make things easy on both of us, and start storming off in the other direction, or we'll do things the hard way, where we're back to me dragging you along by your arm." Refusing to acknowledge his ultimatum, Charlotte angrily turned on her heel, continuing on in the direction of Watery Lane — silently deciding to take the easy way this time.

The entire thirty minute walk home she refused to walk alongside of, speak to, or even acknowledge the presence of her brother, choosing instead to angrily keep to herself about twenty feet in front of him.

At one point she tried to slow her pace, hoping that he'd take over the lead in their walk, so that she might be able to wander off back towards the cinema or maybe to the Harlow home. But as usual, she had no such luck.

It was like he could read her mind.

As she slowed her pace, he too slowed to match her steps. She tried this ebb and flow method of quickening then slowing her steps in an attempt to give him the lead twice before Tommy's voice finally interrupted her mischievous mental planning. "Give it up. You're not walking behind me. Neither of us is going anywhere other than home, Charlie. So you might as well keep walking ahead — you're not sneaking off today."

Huffing in response she simply crossed her arms and picked up her pace. It seemed an eternity walking along the busy streets of Small Heath, Tommy's ice cold glare burning a hole in the back of her head, before she finally spotted home.

Nearly running the last five hundred or so feet to the front door of number five Watery Lane, Charlotte was out of breath as she burst through the entrance, catching her aunt by surprise.

Startled by her sudden appearance, Polly looked up from the newspaper in her spot by the fire. Confusion crossing her face she looked to the door before asking, "Charlie? Where's Ada?"

"At the pictures."

"Then why are you home?" Folding the paper and setting it in her lap, Polly's sixth sense for family unrest flared to life before her eyes.

"You should ask Tommy. He's the one who's gone fucking mental."

"Watch your language." Rolling her eyes at her aunt's reprimand, Charlotte began to roll her sleeve in an effort just to prove how mental her brother had truly gone. "Look at this, Pol..." Turning so that her aunt could get a clear view of the hand shaped bruise blossoming on her arm, she added, "He did this."

At that moment, Tommy stepped into the house pointing to the wide open door, "You don't close doors anymore, eh?"

"Fuck off."

Turning away from both her brother and aunt, Charlotte purposefully strode into the kitchen. From behind her she could hear Polly once again warn her about the language at the same time Tommy shouted at her to, "Watch it, Charlotte." Ignoring both of them, she never slowed as she snatched a slice of bread from the table, continuing her way up the stairs to the privacy of her own room.

As she made it to the top of the staircase she could hear heavy footsteps following in her path, and Polly calling after her brother, "Thomas! What did you do?"

As the footsteps paused on the staircase Charlotte could hear Tommy inform, "Everything's fine, Pol. There's just a few things I need to take care of." If that wasn't bullshit, then she was the queen of England. Deciding to let the rest of the building know her thoughts on the matter, she leaned over the railing, shouting down, "That's a load of horse shit! Don't believe him, Pol!"

As she made her way to her room, Charlotte could hear Tommy's footsteps resume as he followed her up the stairs. She wasn't sure if he was coming for her or not, but she felt the need to make it clear she had no interest in speaking with him further. Slamming the door to her room closed, she hoped that her bullheaded brother would take the hint to leave her be.

Moving towards the fire she shrugged off her coat and angrily wadding the fabric into a ball in her hands, she turned and threw it at her door.

In her mind her coat would've made a satisfying thud and thump as it hit the door and landed on the ground.

However, what actually happened just went to show that every now and then real life was far better than imagined expectations.

As she flung her arm forward, the ball flew from her grasp and at that exact moment the door opened and Tommy appeared.

As the coat made contact with his face, a pained grunt emanated from his throat as her eyes went wide and a barking laugh escaped her lips.

Taking hold of the offending object, Tommy moved forward into her room, wordlessly holding up the coat and raising an eyebrow.

As his glare bore into her she knew he was asking for an explanation. Not having much to say to him she simply shrugged her shoulders and quipped, "If you'd knocked, that wouldn't have happened."

Taking another step towards her, he tossed the coat to the ground and began to lazily lecture her on the rules of the Shelby home, "No throwing things inside." Rolling her eyes she turned her back to him, not interested in anything he had to say. Clearly displeased with her lack of interest in what he had to say Tommy raised his voice, continuing to remind her of the rules, "No slamming doors. And no screaming and shouting when the shop's open — you know the rules."

Rounding on him, Charlotte raised her voice to match his own, questioning, "Yeah, isn't knocking also one of those rules too?"

"I don't knock. It's my fucking house."

"Jesus fucking Christ..."

"He doesn't knock either, love."

"Get out."

"No. It's my house. I'll go where I please."

"Isn't this technically Da's house? You remember him right? Number two on the list of most hated men in Thomas Shelby's life — assuming that Freddie, the man who's fucking Ada, is now number one ... Or are we still pretending Da doesn't exist?"

Charlotte watched her brother tense, his face flushing red, and in that moment she felt the smallest bit of regret as her words fanned the flame of his anger.

The argument that ensued had both Aunt Polly and Arthur finally making their way up the stairs to find out what all the commotion was about. Tommy had yelled and threatened and Charlotte had shifted between mocking his threats and yelling her own in return. She was certain that the only thing that kept him from strangling her that day was Arthur dragging him off to cool down.

At the end of the day, Ada had returned to a nearly empty home. Arthur and John has closed the shop down, each leaving for their respective homes. Tommy was off somewhere, likely fucking some whore. And Polly had been off after insisting Charlotte eat her supper.

With the two sisters alone in the house, there was nothing left to do other than complain about Tommy.

Refusing to speak another word about Freddie and the baby, Ada had sat Charlotte down by the fire and worked to delicately plait her hair. Dutifully listening to Charlotte complain about Tommy's big brother bullying, Ada sighed and nodded at all the right moments, never letting on that her mind was fractured down the middle.

Ada's fingers skillfully worked Charlotte's hair into two plaits as she listened to the complaints that were eerily similar to ones that she herself had cried to Polly when she had been Charlotte's age.

"Things are going to get tough around here, Charles. You and me, we need to stick together, yeah?"

Nodding in agreement, Charlotte turned to face Ada as she hesitantly asked the question that had been on her mind all day, "Are you really gonna keep it?"

"I think so."

"What if Freddie doesn't come back?"

"He will–"

"What if Tommy gets to him first?"

"I don't think–"

"I think Tommy would be more than happy to kill Freddie the first chance he gets after today."

Taking a deep weary breath, Ada paused before informing, "Well, there's nothing more either of us can do about it tonight is there?"

"I guess not."

"Now, you tell me — did you really yell for Tommy to fuck off in the middle of Hasting Square?"

"I don't think–"

"I met Eliza Domoore on the walk home and she said that you were loud enough for the people in the market to hear."

"And a gossip like Eliza Domoore has never told a lie in her life?"

Giving her the eye, Ada glared down at her sister, "Well? Did you or didn't you?

Trying to keep her smirk from turning into a full grin, Charlotte looked away as she confirmed Eliza's gossip, "Yeah, I guess I did."

"That's my girl."

* * *

Now here she sat, sun setting, the winter's night chill falling across Birmingham, and herself surrounded by stacks of hay and Jessup Parrish.

Having spent an afternoon breaking all the rules, accomplishing nothing of import, and sleeping straight through prime hours of potential production, Charlotte felt as if she'd taken back a bit of control.

She thought that agreeing to becoming a working member of the Shelby Family Limited would grant her a bit more freedom. She imagined that Tommy would let up his thumb and allow her the freedom to make her own decisions — like an adult. But she should've known better.

She should've known that she was just another chess piece in Tommy's private game; a game where she and her siblings were pawns in his master plan for world domination — his alone to move and control as he sees fit.

A game where he marries off his own brother, without said brother's knowledge or permission. Where he tries to send his pregnant sister to another country, in an effort to make his own life more simple. Where he forbids their father from having any contact with any of his children without allowing her the privilege of getting to know the man.

"Well?"

Snapping her attention back to JP, he looked to her, expectantly.

"What?"

"You're dream — what was it about?"

Like hell she was gonna tell him, "Nothing." Shrugging she pointed to her bag across the floor, "But had me that — I got the words to a new song in my head."

Scribbling down the words that had come to her in the dream, Charlotte felt a small sense of accomplishment. It had felt like forever since she'd been able to write anything creative. She'd been a dry well of creativity. No inspiration.

And now, thanks to a relatively relaxing afternoon and a few hits of cocaine, she'd had a dream so vivid it had broken her dam of inspiration.

As she finished her scribbled dream lyrics she looked out through the dilapidated window of the run-down barn, admiring the setting sun.

It had been a clear winter day, not a cloud in the sky, and as day turned to evening the tops of the trees glistened in the bright orange beams.

And then it hit her, "Shit I missed a family meeting!" Scrambling to her feet her hurriedly gathered her scattered belongings and Jessup sat still, slightly confused. "So?"

"So?! Tommy's been on me ass all week about following orders and staying in line... And then I go and miss a damn meeting." This friend of hers was a true idiot at times.

"Just tell him you forgot." Indeed. He was the type of idiot that they wrote books about.

"And then what? Tell him we snorted a vial of cocaine and slept away the day in a rundown barn? Oh, yeah, that'll go over well." Pausing once more as realisation settled on her, she threw her hands in the air, "Bloody hell. I was suppose to be somewhere else by now."

"Where were you supposed to be?"

"Other than at the meeting?" Nodding Jessup urged her to think further. "The yard, with the horses." Sighing she explained further, "This is all Tommy's big plan to keep me in line. He's got me on this schedule–"

Interrupting JP questioned, "But who's to say you weren't at the yard?"

"Only Curly and Uncle Charlie." Pausing, she thought harder, "But they'd be at the meeting."

"So, who's to say you weren't at the barn the whole time then?" Not giving her time to answer his question he continued, "Who's to say that you didn't fall asleep there instead of here?" He did have a solid point. "You did say that you didn't get much sleep last night, right?"

"Right you are. I'll just need to head there to have a short conversation with Curly." Pausing she added, "You might not be a completely useless idiot after all."

* * *

Tommy sat at his desk, watching out the window while the shadows grew longer as the setting sun dipped below the tops of the buildings.

After the meeting he'd decided to give Charlotte the opportunity to return home on her own. He didn't want to create a scene by going out to hunt her down and drag her home. But as evening turned to night, he was starting to get seriously concerned over her whereabouts.

Looking back to the book laid open on his desk, he picked up the pencil and tried to focus on checking Arthur's numbers from the Garrison.

Sighing as he heard the door to the shop open and close, he lowered the pencil, relieved to both rid himself of Arthur's poor calculations and find his sister home in one piece. Rising from his desk, he moved to greet the truant teenager before she could abscond to her room for the night. Fishing for a cigarette and match in his waistcoat pocket, Tommy stepped into the shop and questioned, "And just where have you been, young lady?"

"That's kind, Thomas. But I'd not consider myself a spring chicken anymore." Snapping his head up at the sound of his aunt's voice, Tommy sighed as his eyes confirmed what his ears knew to be true — this was not Charlotte. Sighing in disappointment Tommy turned on his heel and returned to his desk, "What you want, Pol?"

Marching across the room, she followed him into his office. "Well, I came to make sure my niece had returned home safe and sound. But from the warm greeting I received, I take it she's yet to make an appearance?"

Lighting his cigarette, Tommy motioned for his aunt to take a seat before slouching into his own chair, "That would be correct."

Settling into the chair across from him, Polly crossed her arms and eyed him, "And at what point do you take it upon yourself to go searching for her?"

Trying not to give in to his irritation Tommy lazily responded, "Not sure yet."

Clearing her throat Polly made an effort to assert her authority over this situation, "At what point does your sister's disappearance concern you enough to go looking for her, Thomas?"

"She's only been gone a few hours, Pol. It's perfectly logical that she'd be a few hours late. If she's not back–"

And at that moment, the door to the shop once more opened and closed — far more quietly than Polly had been.

At the sound of the door, Polly and Tommy turned to face one another, each with their own eyebrow raised — signalling to any outsider the family resemblance.

Trying to keep his cool, Tommy tried to project his false assertion that he'd been absolutely nonplused over his sister's disappearance, "Charlotte?" Keeping his voice was low and intimidating, Tommy hoped his sister would take note and not cause a scene with Polly present.

Clearly rushing in an attempt to circumvent any lecture Charlotte kept her head down, refusing to look into his office, aiming for the staircase, "Hey Tommy. I've got a lot of work to catch up on. I'll be in my room–"

Refusing to rise from his desk, he struggled to keep his leisurely appearance as he called out once more, "Come here, Charlotte."

As Charlotte paused in her attempted escape, Tommy ignored Polly's mumbled comment of, "What, no young lady?" Leaning forward on his desk Tommy waited for Charlotte to make her way to him. When no movement seemed to be forthcoming he cleared his throat to urge her into obedience.

Finally turning and making her way towards him, Charlotte momentarily balked at Polly's presence — she never did like an audience around when she was about to get a lecture.

Standing before him on the other side of the desk, Charlotte fidgeted and picked at her fingernails as he began his line of questioning, "Where have you been?"

Shrugging without looking up from her all encompassing interest with cleaning the underside of each individual finger nail, she mumbled, "With the horses — like you said."

Shaking his head, he snapped his fingers, demanding her attention. When she failed to look up from her hands he coldly demanded, "Look at me."

Huffing as she snapped her head up, her hands flew to her hips, and her face conveyed her irritation and impatience with him. Choosing to ignore her behaviour, he calmly explained, "That's not what I said." Raising an eyebrow he inclined his head and waited for her to remember exactly what it was that he had said just that morning. When she stood still, slightly defiant, and silent — refusing to acknowledge his implied expectation, he continued on, "I'm sure that you'll recall that I said there was to be a family meeting after school."

Shrugging at him once again she breathed, "Well, I forgot."

"Mmmhmm." That seemed unlikely. Rather than calling her a liar in front of their Aunt, Tommy simply nodded at Charlotte as he raised an eyebrow, suspiciously repeating her excuse back at her, "You forgot..."

Crossing her arms and raising her chin, Charlotte glared at him, her discontent rolling off of her in waves. Sitting back in his chair, Tommy crossed his own arms in response, deciding to let the heavy silence settle in on room. As a mute minute passed in agonising stillness, Tommy knew he simply needed to bide his time. Charlotte hated moments of uneasy quiet. Almost nothing made her more anxious than a pregnant absence of sound. Unlike him, she inevitably felt the need to fill the void — which usually resulted in her unknowingly conceding any power she held in any given situation. This was Tommy's secret manipulation. He was certain Charlotte had no idea. And he'd like to keep it that way for as long as possible.

Another minute passed and as Charlotte shuffled her feet, Tommy had to hold in a grin — it would only be a few more seconds now before she cracked.

Three...

Two...

One...

As if on cue, Charlotte forcibly sighed as her anxiety and irritation took over. Jerking her chin in the direction of their aunt, Charlotte finally spoke, "What's she doing here anyway?"

Shifting his eyes from his sister to meet his Aunt's glare he sighed in resignation. As irritated as he was with his Aunt's reappearance, he wasn't going to allow his sister to change the subject, or disrespect the woman, or to question whatever business he might've been addressing at the time of her arrival home. Sitting upright in his chair, he straightened himself to his full height before leaning forward to coldly question, "Would you like to rephrase that question, Charlotte?"

Stepping forward Charlotte slowly placed her palms on his desk, and leaning in with as much cool detachment as he'd just questioned her with, she replied, "No I would not, Thomas."

Allowing his anger over this stunt of hers to take control he found his body reacting before he'd fully decided to take action. In one swift motion, Tommy reached up and took a firm hold of her chin. Pinching her jaw in his strong grasp, his fingers dug into the skin of her cheeks, and he could feel her jaw clench in return. Not giving her time to react, he pulled her face down and forward to meet his own, half way across his desk. At his unexpected play of power he watched in satisfaction as her locked elbows — that had seconds earlier held the full weight of her body — gave way and her once firmly planted palms slipped out from beneath her. A wince crossed her features and a small gasp escaped her lips as the dull thud of her elbows and forearms hitting the hard surface of the desk echoed off the walls of his office. Jerking slightly in an attempt to rid herself of his grasp, he simply held her more firmly pulling her ever so slightly further across the desk. Schooling his features, he kept his face empty as he allowed the pain of his motions to settle in before callously informing, "I'm sorry, it appears you thought you had a choice in the matter. Let me be quite clear, Charlotte — rephrase your question, now."

Loosening his grip he allowed Charlotte the freedom to wrench her face out of his grasp. Glaring at him all the while, she pushed away from his desk and turned her whole body to face their aunt as she deadpanned, "My apologies, Aunt Polly. What has brought you to our humble abode this lovely evening?"

Choosing to ignore her attitude and tone of voice Polly quipped, "Well my dear, I came by to make sure that you were home — safe and sound."

Without missing a beat, emotion returned to Charlotte's voice as she demanded, "Isn't that Tommy's job?"

Again continuing on as if they were discussing the weather, rather than addressing petulant child, Polly replied, "I don't think it's one singular person's job to ensure the safety of the members of this family, love. We all have a role to play."

Seeing that she'd not be getting a reaction from their aunt, Charlotte abandoned the taunting of their aunt and turned to Tommy, demanding, "Are we done here? I'm sorry I missed the meeting. It won't happen again."

"You shoulda been there."

"I'll be there next time."

Polly sighed watching the exchange, and finally spoke up, "Your brother's just trying–"

Interrupting his aunt's best intentions Tommy halted any further exposition she had to give on his behalf, "I've got this Pol."

Leaning back in her chair Polly pinched her lips closed, raised an eyebrow, and waved for him to continue, "By all means, Thomas..."

Looking between her aunt and brother, Charlotte clearly noticed the tension hovering between the two, and smartly chose to ignore the new development, instead choosing to demand her release from this conversation, "I forgot about the meeting. I'll be there next time. Can I go now?"

Narrowing his glare Tommy finally questioned the truth of her excuse, "After everything we went over this morning... You just forgot?" It seemed to him, highly unlikely that she just forgot after yelling at him to fuck off during her very public display of teenage angst on Watery Lane just that morning.

Butting into the conversation once more Polly questioned, "What happened this morning?"

However before Tommy could say a word, Charlotte was speaking her mind.

"Why do you care, Pol?"

"Excuse me?" This time, Polly was taken aback by Charlotte's harsh words.

"You don't even live here anymore. You left as fast as you could once the boys got home. So why do you care?"

Pulling herself to her full height while sitting in her chair, Polly lowered her voice and with a tone that would've set any Shelby on edge she began, "I suggest you watch yourself–"

"I suggest you fuck off and leave me be."

At this Tommy had had enough. She was late, unapologetic, argumentative, and clearly in need of an attitude adjustment. He'd not sit here another moment tolerating this insolent behaviour.

The sound of his gravelly growl enlightened Charlotte to his disapproval only moments before he reached across the desk to take hold of her arm. Fear flashed in his sister's eyes as he pulled her from the office and into the shop. Good. At least she was smart enough to realise that she'd done something wrong. Not smart enough to stop herself in the first place. But what else was new with this girl.

"Ow, I'm sorry. Lemme go." Trying to wiggle free of his grasp Charlotte tried to plead her case, "I didn't mean to, I'm sorry." When she realised that he wasn't going to release his hold on her, she attempted to turn to Polly. "Aunt Pol, I'm sorry."

From inside his office he heard his aunt question, "'Aunt Pol' now, is it?"

Shaking her with his one good arm, Tommy wordlessly demanded her attention and silence. Looking down at his sister her face was wild with indecision. Her pupils were blown, and face flushed. She clearly hadn't expected this reaction from him — and if he were being honest, he couldn't have predicted it himself.

He was tired — and so was she from the looks of it — and he'd had just about enough of her insolence these past weeks. Charlotte needed a good tending to, and unfortunately that responsibility now lay solely on his shoulders.

Resigning himself to the task and hand he squared his shoulders and stepped between Charlotte and his aunt. His sister had no where to look but him, and she was scared stiff at what she saw in his face.

Shaking her slightly to ensure her sole focus, Tommy demanded the girl's attention as he questioned, "Soap or the strap?" He hadn't been angry before, but he sure as fuck was now.

In a moment understanding fell across her face. Followed shortly by her typical insolence, "What? Why?" Pulling more forcibly at his grip on her arm she continued, "No. It's not fair."

Shaking his head, he breathed a deep breath as he lowered his voice and focused his gaze on hers, "It's a little late for that. Choose. Soap or the strap?" Continuing on with her defiant anger, Charlotte closed her mouth and refused to respond. Instead she choose to struggle with his grip on her arm.

Shaking his head at her he informed, "If you don't choose, you'll get both."

Pausing in her struggles Charlotte eyed him, realisation flowing through her at the seriousness of this situation.

Squaring her shoulders and clenching her jaw she spat, "Strap."

Nodding at her he ordered, "Right. Go outside and wait for me." Letting loose of her arm he gave her a push in the right direction, watching as she angrily made her way through the kitchen and to the back door. Slamming the damn thing for sheer effect.

Turning to his aunt he informed, "We'll return shortly." Nodding at him she simply picked up the newspaper and began to read.

Sighing at the situation he'd just found himself in Tommy decided to take a moment for himself — lighting up and deciding to finish his cigarette before heading out after his sister.

* * *

Waiting out the back door, Charlotte closed her eyes and leaned against the side of the house. The effects of the cocaine were starting to wear off, and she was getting sleepy. The energy that was previously coursing through her seemed to be fading away into the far distance of her memory.

She'd never been high while getting a whipping, maybe it'll be easier than usual. She just needed to focus and get her mind in its proper place. Unlike Ada, Charlotte never let herself scream and cry and throw a fit over her beatings. She was stoic and calm, refusing to let anyone see even the slightest hint of weakness.

It had been awhile since she'd last gotten the strap, but this horse and pony show was as familiar to her as the back of her hand. She'd let her attention wander, climbing, flying, or running to the far reaches of her mind. She'd rehash a particularly frustrating moment she had recently had with a schoolmate or family member. She'd come up with new a new melody to some recently written lyrics. She'd review one of her favourite books — recalling the most important or interesting moment in each chapter. There was an endless supply of mental material for her to focus her mind on, in lieu of whatever punishment she was receiving at the moment.

This wandering mind trick of her's use to drive Polly absolutely mad. Which was part of the reason that Polly never gave her a choice.

She couldn't count the number of times Polly had lectured her that the purpose of a punishment was to give Charlotte the time needed to reconsider the poor choices she'd made that had landed her in the situation in the first place. It wasn't for daydreaming. It was for thinking about what it was that she had done, and why those actions had landed her in this position.

As she stood now, awaiting her impending doom she had to admit, this wasn't exactly how she wanted to finish out her night.

She should've just kept her mouth just. She should've just answered Tommy's questions, and let everything else alone. She should've known better than to take another hit of snow after talking with Curly, just before coming home — especially after yesterday's incident with Mr. Schultz. She didn't know why exactly, but everyone in her family deciding that each one got to have an opinion of her life and how she lead it was starting to really twist her knickers.

She didn't have any fucking parents to start with, so if everyone would stop trying to fill the void by acting as both father and mother in any given situation, she'd be much appreciative. Everyone could just sod right off. Well, everyone except Tommy. He was the only one that had any legal right to be giving orders and bossing her around.

There were too many cooks in the kitchen. Too many fingers in the pie. More than enough corporals in the battalion. This was fun. She could do this all night.

Too much attitude, not enough sense.

More than enough horses in the pen.

Too many pencils, not enough paper.

"Right, you know how this goes. Let's get this over with." Looks like she wouldn't get the chance to do this all night.

Without any acknowledgement of Tommy's arrival, Charlotte stoically rose from her seat on the cold ground and turned to face the wall, lamenting to herself that he sure seemed to have smoked that cigarette of his awfully quick.

Placing her hands and the chilled brick wall, Charlotte began the journey into her mind. She began running as far and as fast as she possibly could into the far reaches of the earlier events of her day in order to leave behind the unfortunate walloping that was about to be bestowed upon her. She'd finally decided on a location to let herself wander to, when suddenly Tommy's voice had her paying attention to the present.

"Don't forget to count." Damnit. He didn't need to remind her. Like he'd just said — she knew how this went. Now she needed to restart her journey into the daydream that would get her through this punishment.

From behind her, she could feel Tommy gathering his strength. In turn, she held her breath, waiting for the first blow to strike as she tried to runaway in her mind. A stray thought flickered across her mind that this first strike was always the worst — she never knew when it would –

Fuck. There it was, "One." She needed to find a place in her mind to run to. The cocaine coursing through her system wasn't doing her any favours, if anything — god damnit — "Two."

If anything, she was having a harder time getting her mind to drift off. She just needed to focus — fuck — "Three."

She just needed to focus harder. Damnit, she needed to focus on something else. Damn the devil to hell — "Four."

That's it. Her dream song. She could focus on her dream song. Recalling the words that she had furiously scribbled in her workbook in an effort to retain the memory of the dream she began to think of a tune.

"The devil's drawing near..." This would work.

Her mind was split in two — one side straining to keep focused on her new song; the words and potential tune floating around in her thoughts. While the other side monotonously counted each descending strike from her brother.

"The songs you use to sing..."

"Fucking hell!" The leather strap came down on her backside so hard that it jerked her out of her daydream. The lyrics she had been so focused on, now floating away on the wind. From behind her Tommy's voice coldly demanded, "That wasn't a number."

Looking back at him she snapped, "Twelve, alright? Can you just give me a second?"

Shaking his head at her his only verbal response was, "Turn around."

Doing as he ordered, she realised she wasn't in any position to me making demands or giving him attitude.

As he finished the last strike and she voiced the count, Tommy didn't move from his location behind her before demanding, "Come here." Looking behind her she could see him pointing to a spot on the ground directly in front of himself.

Turning and moving to him, she tried to level her heavy breathing as she prepared for some sort of lecture.

"You learn your lesson?"

Wordlessly she nodded at him.

"What did you learn?"

"I learned I shouldn't tell Pol to fuck off."

Sighing at her, he ran his hand through his hair, "What's the matter with you today, eh?"

Shrugging at him, she looked down and brought her hands to her mouth, choosing to chew on her nails rather than looking up at him.

"Don't just shrug at me. This morning you storm outta here like a cat on fire. Then you come in here — late — chomping at the bit for a fight. So tell me, what is it?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?" He was incredulous. She was pushing him. But she honestly didn't have a better answer.

"Yeah. I don't know."

"That time you just spent facing the wall, getting you hide tanned, wasn't enough? You need more time to think about your attitude?"

"No–" She tried to explain, but he just kept going.

"I'm sure Polly's got a nice shiny coin on her. We can set you up in my office, while she and I finish–"

Finally looking up to him she threw her arms in the air, "No! I'm sorry... No. I'm just off. That's all. I didn't sleep much last night. I'm tired and cranky–"

"And sore."

Narrowing her eyes to a glare, she refused to acknowledge his jab, "All I was is some sleep. And I'll be better tomorrow. I promise."

Pausing to examine her, Tommy sighed, "Right then. Inside, and apologise to Pol." Pointing toward the door that lead inside he added, "And make it sincere. None of this 'humble abode' bullshit, do you understand?"

"Yes, Tommy."

Making her way through the kitchen and back into the shop, Charlotte soon found herself back in Tommy's office, standing in front of her aunt.

Folding the newspaper into her lap, Polly casually took in her appearance causing Charlotte to freeze under her careful inspection. Polly kept an impassive face as Tommy urged his sister forward, "You've got something to say?"

Stepping forward, Charlotte stood, tears brimming her eyes, but a fierceness flowed through her, refusing to let a single one fall. "I'm sorry, Aunt Pol. I shouldn't have said those things to you."

Nodding, Polly couldn't help but take in the girl's appearance. She was swaying slightly, red faced, and not entirely contrite — even after the solid whipping she's just received. Tommy should've given her the soap. That would've made her truly sorry.

If given a choice, Charlotte always chose the strap over any other punishment. It was faster and she could more quickly be on her way. Polly wasn't sure if Tommy was aware of this, but having spent the better part of her nieces life raising her, Polly was well aware of how Charlotte could move on from a firm and proper whipping.

"Apology accepted, love."

At her acceptance of Charlotte's half-hearted apology, Charlotte sighed in relief and Tommy was sending her to bed, "Right then, upstairs." Motioning towards the door, he added, "Straight to bed."

Shuffling her feet, but not actually taking a step in the ordered direction, Charlotte struggled to find her voice, "Em... I'd ah... Like to take a bath, if that's alright?" Reaching up she pulled a few straws of hay from her matted hair as reasoning for her request.

Hiding a grin by examining her newspaper once again, Polly watched on at her nephew nodded in permission before adding, "You put the pot on, and I'll bring it up when it's warm."

Nodding and thanking her brother, Charlotte made her way to the kitchen.

Both Tommy and Polly watched as Charlotte moved to fill up their largest pot with water, precariously teetering it onto the stove top, and making her way upstairs.

As Charlotte disappeared to the upper level of the home, Tommy took a seat behind his desk and the air between him and his aunt sat stale and heavy as they both listened to the sounds of Charlotte filling up the tub with cold, piped water.

Finally filling the silence, Polly attempted to comfort her nephew, "You're doing your best, Thomas."

"I'm exhausted, Pol."

"Girls her age are exhausting."

"I don't remember things being this difficult for our mother when–"

Cutting him off, Polly sternly unformed, "Then you're not remembering correctly. Your mother had three unruly boys to keep up with and an absent husband. You've got one girl in your charge, Thomas. Your mother was a saint. Do not compare yourself to her."

"You think she'd have done what I just did to her baby girl?"

"Absolutely. That girl is a mirror image of you. The attitude, the sneaking, the stubborn need to be different. She needs a firm hand. You're doing a good job with her. She's bright — maybe too bright for her own good. She's creative and outgoing. Pleasant to be around — when she's not demanding either of us fuck off, that is."

Pausing, Polly waited to see if Tommy would respond. When nothing was forthcoming she continued, "She's got a good head on her shoulders, and so do you. You're giving her the rope she needs to learn to become her own person, but not so much so that she hangs herself with it."

When there was still no comment from the man across from her, Polly decided to finish up her lecture, "You need to take the time to sit back and get to know the woman she's becoming. She might surprise you. Stop trying to shape her into the person you think she should be, and just let her be who she is. Ratty old trousers and stollen peaky caps, and all."

Without waiting for a comment from Tommy, Polly rose from her chair, and made her way to the door through the shop, casually calling back, "Come lock up, Thomas. And deliver that water to your sister before she catches a cold washing herself in freezing water."

Following his aunt's orders, Tommy locked all the doors to numbers five and six Watery Lane, delivered the pot of steaming hot water to his sister's bath, and promptly returned to the kitchen to put on one more pot for his sister, and to pour a whiskey for himself.

As he sat at the table, staring off into the distance he began to let his mind wander, contemplating Polly's lecture when he heard a faint melody floating down the staircase.

Rising with his drink in hand, Tommy made his way up the stairs, careful to avoid the steps with creeks. If history was any indicator, Charlotte wouldn't want him listening in. But he felt drawn to the sound, like some sort of literary sailor, interest peaked by sirens of old Troy.

Rounding the corner, Tommy stood in the hallway that connected their two sleeping quarters. The door to the washroom was almost imperceptibly propped open, allowing for Charlotte whispered humming to more easily make their way out to his ears.

Lowering himself to the ground, Tommy propped his knees up and leaned back against the wall. Settling in for the time being, letting himself this moment of childish spying on his sister.

From inside the washroom Charlotte seemed to be arguing with herself. Mumbling out inaudible words, then cursing herself and rearranging the words or the tune.

"Daddy can you hear, the devil drawing near? Like a shot heard from a gun, run."

Faint mumbling then again, "Daddy can you hear, the devil drawing near? Like a shot heard from his gun, run."

Again, the same words, but a slightly different melody.

Then again and again. Seemingly memorising both aspects of the song. After a few minutes she moved on to a new part.

"Saw your dark cloud coming from a million miles away."

She then reworked this part in a similar fashion, adjusting the tune and words before adding the two parts together and continuing on.

"Auntie's been crying in the kitchen.  
Sister's been afraid of the dark.

Brother's been gathering the pieces of all these shattered hearts."

This song she was creating, it was haunting. It was mesmerising. And if he gave himself a little bit of credit for not being as dense as the other Shelby men, he had to believe that this was about him and their father.

From behind the washroom door, Charlotte began elements of her song over again before drifting off to a stop.

Silence settled in on both sides of the door, and Tommy suddenly remembered that he'd promised a fresh pot of warm water.

Pushing himself off of the floor, he struggled to muffle a groan as his knees cracked and his back ached. Hoping to quietly shuffle back down the stairs, Tommy turned and promptly kicked his empty whiskey glass across the hall.

The thing didn't break, but it sure as hell made enough noise to wake the dead.

"Tommy? Is that you?"

Holding his breath he kept silent, hoping that she'd never grow wise to his eavesdropping. Slowly stepping one foot and then the other, Tommy slowly made his way towards the staircase, away from the washroom door. The silence was heavy and Tommy could tell, Charlotte was carefully listening to any evidence of foul play on his side of the door.

"Tommy? Can you hear me? I think I'm done in here... You don't need to haul up another pot."

Hurriedly making his way to the bottom of the stairs as quietly as possible, Tommy hollered up at her, "I hear you. Finish up there, and get to bed."

Sighing as he sat down on the bottom step, he couldn't help but grin at his successful game of spy.


	14. Chapter 14

A Mind to Tear a Soul in Two: Chapter Fourteen

* * *

Laying in bed at the sun broke over the rooftops, Charlotte wondered what time it was. Usually Tommy woke her before school, but after yesterday's thrashing she wasn't sure if he was still angry with her or not.

She could hear rustling coming from downstairs, but that was absolutely no indication of the time in the Shelby house. With Tommy's nightmares occasionally keeping him up throughout the night, there was no guarantee that he even went to sleep. Same goes for Arthur, for that matter. And John... John would show up at any hour just to escape his own children.

Speaking of John's children... She really owed her nieces and nephew a visit. She'd rarely gone this long without seeing them, ever since their mother passed at least.

Although, now they had a new mother, so maybe it wasn't her place anymore to be sneaking sweets and reading bedtime stories. She didn't want to get in Esme's way — especially after she'd helped so much stitching her up after the attack. And besides, she wasn't too keen on being around John at the moment. He was a right prick anymore, and she didn't have the resolve to fight both him and Tommy. She had to pick her battles wisely these days, and it seems she was going toe to toe with Tommy nearly everyday.

She just wished he'd– "Charlotte! Get a move on!" The shout of Tommy's voice and the pounding on her door jolted Charlotte from her thoughts.

Looks like they were doing things the post-war Shelby way — don't doddle, keep your head down, and move along; actions have consequences, and if you don't learn the lesson with the walloping this time 'round, you'll learn it next time. Even if it wasn't her that had caused the mess, he still wasn't interested in discussing the matter with her.

The whole battle with the Lee's was the shining example of Tommy's post-war attitude — he soundly refused to discuss it with a single one of them, and then before anyone knew what was happening John was getting married to Esme, and everyone considered the whole problem solved.

Thinking back all those months ago, Charlotte realised that she hadn't really even known that things were as bad as they were until she'd nearly been blown to high heaven by a pipe bomb.

Charlotte's head had been pounding all morning, and for the life of her she couldn't find a dark and quiet place to just catch her breath. The shop had been busy all day long, blokes coming in and out placing their bets for the upcoming race. At one point Scud had to break up a fight, throwing both men out the shop door onto Watery Lane — firm on their asses — with a heavy threat of a blinding should they try to place another bet by the week's end.

The thin walls and creaky floorboards of numbers five and six Watery Lane provided no absorption to the constant racket that floated throughout the house and shop. She needed a place to escape. John's house was no good — the children would only make the pounding that resulted in bolts of lightning behind her eyelids to increase. She didn't have a key to Polly's place. Arthur's home was out of the question — although she was loathed to admit her knowledge of the matter — his residence was a veritable whore house at any given hour, and she was not want to experience that sort of encounter again.

She supposed she could head to the Garrison, ask Harry if she could have a lay in one of the spare rooms upstairs. But there was never a guarantee of solitude there. At any given moment a brawl could break out, and she'd just as soon avoid that sort of nonsense altogether.

It would be a long walk to Uncle Charlie's yard, but she supposed that might be the only place left for her to take refuge in at the moment.

Rolling from her bed, she grabbed her cap and coat and made her way down the stairs and out the back door — successfully avoiding her aunt, brothers, and any of the blinders that might've wanted a chat. Smiling to herself at her stroke of good luck, she pulled her cap further down her brow in an attempt to block out as much light as possible and pushed through the throbbing pain to get to the yard.

However, as she turned the first corner off of the lane Charlotte noticed two figures across the way in the garage with the family car. There seemed to be one man looking around, as another had the front door open and was fiddling around inside. Assuming at first that her brother's must be taking the thing out for a drive, she quickly readjusted her assumption after taking in the look of the two figures. Both seemed to be rather short and stout, and one was wearing a distinctly bowler hat — none of this added up to the tall, gangly, peaky cap clad appearances that would describe the Shelby men, or Charlie Strong for that matter.

Stopping in her pursuit of the yard, Charlotte headed across the busy street toward the garage. Putting on her very best imitation of Arthur's gruff voice she called out, "Oi! You!" At the sound of her voice over the muddling noise of the street and workshops, the two men looked up and seemed to panic at her approaching figure. "What you think you're doing, eh?" Stepping away from the car, the first man shouted something unintelligible to the other, who in turn stepped out of the car, slammed the door and both took off running in the opposite direction.

Gathering her own energy, Charlotte bolted towards the escaping men, but was unable to take more than four running strides towards them as the thumping of her own feet along the graveled road caused lightening bolts of pain to radiate from the back of her skull forward and into her eyeballs. Wincing at the pain, she leaned forward to rest her hands on her knees. "Bloody hell." Looking up she saw the men turn the corner onto Watery Lane and deemed any pursuit at this point, completely pointless. She'd take a look at the car to see what sort of damage was taken, and then later tonight, she'd give Tommy a heads up about the attempted theft.

Approaching the car, Charlotte mumbled to herself as she curiously thought of the attempted thieves running down the lane, tails between their legs, "Well, that was strange." Poking her head into the car she looked around to see if there's been any damage. Nothing that she could see. Stepping back, she circled the car and was surprised to find no damage at all. Even more surprising though, was the revelation that this garage was very dark and very quiet. She wouldn't have to walk all the way to the yard to get some peace and quiet, she could just relax here for a bit — give herself some time alone to get over this headache.

And she'd be here in case the imbeciles that attempted to steal the car in the first place came back. It was a win-win all around.

Heading towards the front of the car, she tried to open the door, but the damn thing wouldn't budge. Must've gotten jammed when the fucker slammed it before running. No troubles, she'd just climb over the seat from the back and shove the thing open with her feet.

Climbing into the backseat Charlotte shrugged off her coat and fashioning herself a makeshift pillow before laying down on the cushioned surface. It was remarkably quiet in the garage, no sounds of fights or bursting flames from the workshops that surrounded Garrison Lane.

Closing her eyes she breathed a sigh of relief. This was exactly what she needed. A dark, quiet little escape to make herself comfortable enough for a short little nap.

Away from the dramatics of Tommy and Ada, John and his kids, and the never ending spectacle of crisis that was an illegal betting shop, she might be able to stop her brain from imploding in on itself this afternoon.

Breathing deeply and letting her mind float away into space, Charlotte felt as if she hadn't been this relaxed in months — not since finding out Ada was pregnant.

It must've been this final thought of her awakened consciousness that lead to strange dreams of human toddling babies placing racing bets in their shop. The little rascals running loose up and down Watery Lane as their mothers — with distinctly cat like features — gave chase after their truant children. And the evil sewer rat coppers that made it their life's mission to lock up the sweet bet-placing-babies behind bars, where they'd never see their feline mothers, nor the light of day ever again.

At some point Charlotte had the strange thought that she must be asleep, as her brother's would most certainly not accept bets from infants, nor would they allow such nonsense as rat coppers to be prowling the streets of Small Heath. Struggling with her consciousness she worked to swim to the surface of her mind, where she knew she'd be able to wake herself from the strange animal filled dream that had taken over her afternoon.

Finally forcing herself awake, Charlotte sat upright to take in her surroundings.

Right, she was in the garage. Backseat of the car.

Her head felt remarkably light. No bolts of lightning, no throbbing jolt of pain.

There was something else she needed to recall though... There'd been men fixing to steal the damn thing. Oh, and the front door had been jammed closed.

She was remembering now... it always took her a second or two after waking to place herself.

Looking outside, more men seemed to have gathered, and then shadows seemed slightly longer than they had been when she'd climbed in. She never kept a timepiece on her, but guessed she must've been asleep for about an hour, possibly two.

Stretching the sleep from her joints, Charlotte decided to fix the car door herself before returning home and informing Tommy of what had happened. If she had to tell him the bad news that she'd let the men get away, at least she would be able to share the good news of having fixed their damage without having to bother him for help.

Leaning over the car's front seat, Charlotte froze at the sound of Tommy's voice.

"Charlie?"

Pausing her movements — one leg on either side of the front seat, straddling the damn thing like a horse — Charlotte looked up to see Tommy at the front of the garage. A strange look of irritation and panic ran across his face as he raised a hand and slowly walked towards her. It honestly looked as if he were approaching a scared horse; one hand outstretched in a non-threatening motion, his steps slow and precise, and his voice low and cold. That was never good. Tommy was always scarier when he was cold and composed. She'd seen him rage and carry on like an animal, but when he was quiet and struggling to keep himself calm — that's when he was at his worst. That's when you should be the most scared of what Tommy Shelby was capable of.

Sighing at the precarious situation she suddenly found herself in, she realised that her brother was probably under the assumption that she was trying to steal the car herself. She'd done it once before and gotten a solid whipping for doing so.

Hoping to explain herself before Tommy got his hands on her, she started, "Tom, it's not–"

Interrupting her Tommy demanded, "Charlie, stay exactly where you are." Continuing his slow walk towards her, Tommy winced as she slid her back leg over the seat, settling herself in front of the steering wheel.

She needed to pick up the pace of her explanation. Last time she'd been caught with the car she'd been hauled home, Tommy holding onto her upper arm in a vice grip as he periodically smacked her all along the way. "Tommy, it's not what it looks like. I was walking to the yard and I saw someone trying to steal the car. So I scared 'em off."

Ignoring her as if she'd not said anything at all, Tommy questioned, "Which door did you open to come in, Charlie?"

"Well, that's the thing, you see. They slammed this door here when they ran, and I think they jammed it." Pulling her feet up on the seat she leaned back against the opposite door, preparing to kick the thing open. "So I had to go in the back door, because the damn thing is stuck."

Still looking slightly frightened Tommy circled around to the driver's side door, where she'd leaned her back up against, and slowly spoke, "I want you to come out exactly the same way you went in, okay?"

Shaking her head she tried to explain further, "If you go around to the other side and work the handle, then I can kick it open."

Shaking his own head back at her Tommy voice grew slightly angry at her disobedience, "Don't do anything, Charlie. Just come out exactly the way you went in — that's all I want you to do."

Sighing at his anger she tried to defend herself, "Jesus, Tommy. I wasn't going to take the car–"

Interrupting her, his voice rose slightly as he demanded, "Get out of the car right now, Charlotte."

"Fine! Christ almighty, Tommy." Growling to herself at his unyielding demands, Charlotte sat upright and moved to climb back up and over into the backseat. Getting her knees under herself on the front seat, she leaned on the jammed front passenger door trying to give herself a boost over. However, as she rested her weight on the door a few things happened all at the same time, causing her to feel as if time had slowed.

The car door flew open under her weight, causing Charlotte to tumble to the ground below. As she began her fall, Charlotte had the thought that her previous tugging on the door must've caused it to loosen to the point that merely putting her own weight on it from the inside had caused it to fly open.

All while she was contemplating the effects of her weight on the jammed door, she heard a strange clicking noise and Tommy's voice behind her grew louder as he rushed toward the car, shouting, "No, no! Charlie!"

Landing hard on her side, Charlotte felt her breath forced from her lungs as she collided with the ground. Coughing hard she watched — nearly upside down as it were — as Tommy ran away from her and the car yelling, "Clear!" to the small crowd of labourers that had gathered to shoot the breeze. Moving sideways to straighten her view from her spot on the ground, Charlotte watched as her brother threw an object out into the street and then turned and vaulted back towards her. Landing atop of her own body, Tommy caused her to gasp for breath as the crash of his body against her own forced what little air was left in her lungs completely out.

As she lay — crushed under Tommy's weight, gasping for air — she shuddered as the roar of an explosion rattled the very earth beneath her, the sound reverberating off the windows and walls surrounding them. Frozen in place Charlotte watched, shaking, as Tommy, breathing heavily, looked up to observe the damage caused by the blast.

When he seemed certain that nothing more was about to happen, he rolled off of her sitting upright on the ground next to her, and finally seemed to notice her struggle for breath. Reaching down, he grasped her shoulder and tugged her upright. Pulling her forward into him, he pushed her head down between her knees while running his hand over her back, calmly instructing, "It's alright. Just breathe. Slowly. That's it, you're fine. Take it slow."

Feeling her racing heart beat slower ever so slightly, Charlotte worked to take in a breath. Then a second. Then a third. When she finally felt as though she weren't suffocating, she pulled away from her brother, leaning back to hoarsely ask, "What," pausing she took a gasping breath. "The hell," another pause for breath. "Was that?"

Looking beyond her to the men gathering in the street it took Tommy a moment to catch a deep breath of his own breath before he leaned forward and took her face in his hands.

Jerking her forward until their noses nearly touched he explained, "That was why you should always do as I say." Shaking her slightly to get his point across he questioned, "Okay? You hear me?" Nodding at him silently, Charlotte worked to keep from bursting out into a sob at the sudden realisation of the dangerous situation her brother had just saved her from. Closing her eyes as Tommy once more shook her head in his hands, she continued to nod as she breathed deeply through her nose. Muttering to himself Tommy repeated his need for her to understand, "Okay?" Still nodding at him she whispered, "Alright." As he jerked her forward once more into an almost suffocating hug.

After a minute Tommy released his hold on her and rose to his feet, reaching his hand out for her to grasp. Pulling her to her feet, he settled her in place and reached down to begin dusting off her trousers, "Tommy... Stop it. I can do that myself." Trying to smack his hands away Charlotte sighed as her brother continued dusting her off, as if she were five years old — not her actual thirteen years.

When he finally finished his unnecessary task, Tommy reached out to take hold of her hand, muttering, "Right then. Let's go." Surprised at his actions, Charlotte let him walk her a solid twenty feet before she tried to take her hand back. Looking around the lane, she couldn't help but grow embarrassed at the men watching as Tommy drug her down the lane, hand in hand like she was a child. However, when she tried to tug her hand out of his own, he only gripped her tighter and tugged back, causing her to nearly trip in an effort to match his quick pace.

Coming to the realisation that resistance would be utterly ineffective, she simply sighed and let him drag her home, hand in hand — once again acting as if she were five years old. Once they reached number six, Tommy pulled her in through the sitting room only releasing her hand once he'd deposited her into a chair at the table, and only then to fetch her a glass of water.

Finishing her glass she finally took the opportunity to turn in her chair to look behind herself, through the double doors and at the disastrous state of the shop, "Holy hell. What happened here?"

Taking her empty glass, and moving to refill it, Tommy informed, "Same thing that happened to the car."

Sighing at his lack of any useful information in his response, Charlotte heard him place the glass on the table and groaned aloud as he took firm hold of her shoulders and forcefully turned her back towards the table to face away from the demolished view of the shop.

Sitting in the chair across from her he motioned to the refilled glass, silently urging her to drink. Ignoring his unspoken command she tried to press him further, "And what exactly was it that happened at the car?"

Snapping his fingers and pointing to the glass, further instructing her to drink, Tommy informed, "Nothing for you to worry about."

Once again finishing the water she placed the cup forcefully on the table and demanded, "It was obviously a bomb, Tommy. I'm not an idiot."

"You're right. It was a bomb."

"And?"

Rising from his chair he moved towards her, "And you tore your shirt." Poking at her shoulder she hissed as a sharp pain shot through her body. Looking to the spot that he'd just assaulted, Charlotte frowned. He wasn't lying. She must've ripped the shirt when she fell from the car. The resulting bloody gash and the mixture of dirt from the garage had done the shirt in good. It likely wasn't salvageable. Shaking her head at his attempted distraction she looked up to him, "What? That's it? You're not going to explain why exactly there was a bomb in the fucking family car?"

Leaning over her, Tommy lowered his voice and gave her his most parental glare, "You could've died, Charlie. If I hadn't been there..." Trailing off he looked to the ceiling as if asking the heavens for the words to speak next, "Fucking hell." Leaning down further he took her face in his hands and kissed the top of her head — like he'd done when she was little. "Just go upstairs and get washed up, eh? Then you can come down and help clean up this mess."

Shocked into silence at his watery eyes and the slight wobble in his voice, Charlotte nodded and went up the stairs, leaving her brother alone with his secrets and plans.

Rising from her bed at the memory, Charlotte tried to free herself from the frustrations of the past, and instead went through the motions of the morning, readying herself for one more week of school.

Making her way towards the kitchen, Charlotte hadn't lifted her foot off the last step before she was being beckoned into Tommy's office. Adjusting her path, Charlotte took her time walking the ten feet between herself and Tommy.

Standing in front of her brother's desk, she chewed the edges of her find her nails, watching as he finished signing a stand of papers, waiting for some sort of lecture.

Finally moving the final sheet from the right side of the desk to the left he looked up at her, "Take a seat."

Looking to the chair directly to her left, she shook her head, "I'll stand, thank you."

"It's six in the morning, you gonna start with the attitude now?"

"No... It's only that–"

"I said, take a seat."

"Right." Slowly lowering herself into the hard wood chair, Charlotte paid extra attention to keep her face clear of any emotion. She certainly wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that her rear was still raw from his thrashing.

"Now, you missed a lot at the meeting last night–"

"I know, I'm sorry–"

"I wasn't finished." Closing her mouth as if she'd just sucked on a lemon, Charlotte crossed her arms and waited for Tommy to continue, "Ada and Freddie are coming by for dinner tomorrow, and you need to be here."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"But, what if–"

"No excuses this time. You be there, or you'll not set foot outside this house the entire holiday break. You understand me?"

"But that's not fair–"

"Why isn't it fair? You got other plans?" A pause, he was waiting for her to incriminate herself somehow. "What could possibly be more important than what I'm telling you to do, eh?"

Starting back at him, Charlotte searched her brain for a reasonable response. She couldn't very well tell him that she'd already made plans to practice with her secret band. Nor could she tell him that this was their last chance to practice before their night at the Commons night after next — the very same performance that she'd be sneaking out to go to. So she did what any sane person would do when starting down Thomas Shelby — she kept her mouth shut.

"Right then. Dinner at seven. Say it."

"Dinner at seven, tomorrow night."

"Good. Now, there's someone in the kitchen needs to speak with you." Turning to his desk and the papers there that needed reviewing, Tommy pointed toward the kitchen, abruptly dismissing her.

Feeling so overcome with this bothersome family of hers, Charlotte not only rolled her eyes, but her entire head on her shoulders at her dismissal, "Do I hafta? I told her I was sorry last night..."

Completely ignoring her plea for reprieve, Tommy simply stated, "Shut the door on your way," as he placed pen to paper and continued on with his clearly very important day.

Rising from her chair, Charlotte purposefully closed Tommy's office door just hard enough to irritate him — but not quite hard enough to illicit a response from the brooding brother behind the desk. Not looking forward to yet another lecture, this time from her Aunt, Charlotte literally drug her feet along the boards of the floor as she ever so slowly made her way towards the green doors.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself for her aunt's early morning lecture, Charlotte reached forward and jerked open the doors, "Morning, Pol. I'm sorry about–" Pausing in her preemptive apology — a desperate attempt for leniency from her Aunt — Charlotte stopped at the sight before her.

Rather than the firm, matronly face of her aunt, she was greeted by the soft, pallid, doughy face of John. Growling at her brother, sitting casually sipping tea at the table Charlotte moved to slam the double doors giving way to her sudden anger, "Jesus fucking Christ. Of course it's you."

"You thought I was Aunt Polly?"

"You really are thick, you know."

"I just came to talk."

"I don't wanna talk." Turning on her heel, Charlotte decided against scrounging up some sort of breakfast, and instead chose to escape this confrontation by just leaving the house altogether. Rising from his chair at the table, John rushed to block her way into the sitting room. Holding his arms out, he planted his feet and acted as a barricade, "Lottie, come on now–"

"Bye, John." Wasting no time Charlotte turned and headed for the backdoor. An exit is an exit. She was hoping to avoid Tommy's view of her retreat — she wasn't sure if he'd come after her or not, but she didn't have a choice anymore. He'd be able to see her leave through the small window in his office, so she just needed to get a move on.

Calling after her, John tried to stop her movements, "Lottie, would you give me a minute?"

"No."

"Come on–" Giving chase, John finally reached out to grab her arm to stop her from flinging open the door and making her escape.

She'd had enough. She'd told him to leave her be, and instead he was grabbing at her again. Time for actions, not words. Less than two seconds after John had grabbed her arm, she was shaking him off. He seemed to realise that he'd made a mistake, because he took a step back and raised his hands, palms out, in defence.

As he took a step backwards, Charlotte took a step forward to meet him. Raising her fist she put her weight on her back foot, and threw her fist forward, making contact with John's face. Her form was impeccable, it was a perfect punch — just as John had taught her.

She'd been aiming for his nose, but at the last second he'd realised what was happening and stepped to the side — causing her fist to collide solidly with his left cheek, just below his eye.

"Fucking hell!"

Moving his arms to cover his face, John inadvertently blinded himself in an effort to block another blow from coming his way. Taking advantage of his momentary disadvantage Charlotte advanced on him, grabbing him by the lapels of his shirt to hold him in place while her knee moved upward to connect with his gut.

Tumbling to the ground John tried to catch the breath that she'd just knocked outta him, "Fuck!" It was more of a grunted moan that a shouted curse, but the curse — along with his collision to the ground and the scrapping of kitchen furniture — had been loud enough to garner Tommy's attention from the other side of the green doors.

Throwing herself to the floor next to John, she raised her fist again and brought it down just below his rib cage. More air escaped, and he thrashed trying to get the upper hand in the fight he was so clearly losing.

"Jesus Christ, Charlotte!"

Jolting towards her, John attempted to pin her to the ground to stop her assault. Grabbing her wrists in his hands, he threw his weight over her, seeking to pin her arms to the ground above her. However, being the better fighter, Charlotte was able to use her brother's forward motion against him as she let his weight propel the both of them to the side, so that they tumbled one over the other. He grunted and she yelped as they rolled, but soon enough John was on his back once more and Charlotte was feeling victorious.

Scrambling to sit atop her brother to prevent him from swinging his legs and catching her in the gut, Charlotte brought her fist up again, this time intent on breaking that bloody nose of his, when suddenly she felt herself being jerked backwards, and an angry voice shouting in her ear, "What the fuck is going on in here?"

Her breath was squeezed out of her as a strong arm tightened around her middle and she very nearly closed her eyes as the room spun and she felt herself being heaved through the air. As her vision straightened, she found she was headed towards one of the kitchen chairs that had gotten dislodged in the scuffle. Nearly tripping over her own feet as she worked to keep herself from face planting into the ground, Tommy's voice came from behind her angrily demanding, "Sit down."

Sitting in the chair, Charlotte breathed heavily as she cautiously watched both brothers. She could take on John, but both Tommy and John — that was an impossible feat. "I won't ask again, what is going on in here?"

Crossing her arms and closing her mouth, Charlotte sent a glare Tommy's way. She wasn't exactly sure how to explain the situation to him, so rather than stepping in it, she'd keep her mouth shut for the time being.

Irritated at her silence, Tommy looked from her to John and back again. Whenever he insisted that he wouldn't repeat himself, he stood by it. It wasn't Tommy Shelby's way to go back on his word — even if it was as simple as refusing to repeat himself.

Finally, from his spot on the floor, John gave in to Tommy's threatening silence, "She's bloody mad that one." Sitting up he pointed to her — as if Tommy might've mistaken John's accusation for some other girl in the room. A right thick moron this brother of her's was. "She jumped me before I could so much as get a word out."

Leaning forward in her chair, Charlotte aimed her words at John, spitting them at him like a venomous snake, "I'm not interested in having any words with you."

Rolling his eyes at her, Tommy turned to his brother, "Alls you were supposed to do was apologise!"

From the ground, John wiped the blood from his face as his muffled voice reached her ears, "I tried–"

Scoffing, Charlotte informed, "Not hard enough."

Tommy let loose an exasperated sigh and reached down for his brother to grasp his hand. Pulling John to his feet he gave him a quick once over, "She break anything?"

Pausing before answering John stretched his jaw, felt his split lip and swelling eye. Shaking his head, he sucked on his bottom lip as he straightened his clothes.

Sighing out loud, Tommy looked to both his younger siblings, "Right. Then I think you two are square, yeah?"

Charlotte and John eyed each other from their spots on either side of their older brother. Neither wanted to give in, giving the other the upper hand. Giving her an even glare John suddenly shook his head, "Nah, I don't think so, Tom. She was aiming to break my nose."

"Fuck's sake John. You're ten years older than she is — if you can't handle yourself in a fight against a child, it's not her fault."

"I am not a child!"

Spinning around and pinning her with a cold glare, Tommy pointed a finger in her direction, "Shut it." Pausing to keep her fixed with his glare, Tommy waited until she felt just comfortable enough to shift awkwardly in her seat before turning back to John, "John, you're a fucking father; A goddamned machine gunner. Just apologise and move on, eh?"

Shifting his weight from foot to foot, John seemed to mull over Tommy's words before finally agreeing. Nodding to his elder brother, Tommy turned and looked to his sister for acknowledgement. As she too nodded in consent, Tommy took a step backwards and demanded, "Good. Shake on it. Proper like." Then adding for good measure — as if he were addressing two children, "And apologise like you mean it."

Rising from her chair Charlotte moved to meet John where he stood, spitting in her hand she reached out for her brother. As John followed her lead he took hold of her hand, and with a withering look to Tommy, muttered, "Sorry 'bout your wrist."

Holding back an apology of her own just long enough to elicit a warning throat clearing from Tommy, Charlotte finally mumbled an apology of her own — even though she felt perfectly justified in her actions, having warned both brothers that if John were to lay a hand on her again, she'd deck him, "Yeah, your eye too." Then smirking, she added, "And lip. And ribs."

The only warning for the smack upside the head from Tommy was the exasperated sigh he let out at her arrogant half apology. However, satisfied with the peace Tommy aimed to get back to his desk, but not before pointing to John and questioning, "Don't you have work to do?" Then turning and pointing to herself, he demanded, "And you — eat your breakfast and get to school." Then walking back toward his office, Tommy moved to close his office door before he turned and ordered, "And no more fucking fighting, Charlotte."

Slamming his own door for good measure, Charlotte couldn't stop herself from turning to John and putting on a deep mocking voice, "No fucking fighting."

Chuckling at her spot on Tommy impression, John rose from his chair and wordlessly made his exit.

"Well, that was an exciting morning."

* * *

Following his wife down the lane, John couldn't help but grin at Esme's excitement. It was one of the first nights that they'd managed to get out of the house, just the two of them, since their surprise wedding two months earlier.

Not that he'd hated being cooped up with her. She was a beautiful woman, after all.

"John, hurry up!"

"I'm comin', I'm comin'." Picking up his pace he reached even with Esme, only to have her quicken her step in return. Sighing at her he hollered, "Why we gotta hurry anyway, eh?"

Turning to face him, but never stopping her forward motion, she bellowed back, "Because Lucius said the band starts at seven! And it's already twenty after!"

"Oi! Turn around and watch where you're going', eh?" Pausing to take heed of his words, Esme turned and looked down to see an empty fruit crate that had been left in the road. Catching up with her once again he questioned, "And why exactly are we rushing for a band? We can see a band any day of the week at the Commons."

Sighing and rolling her eyes, she sidestepped the crate and continued on, "Cause it's a gypsy band, just like from the caravan. So come on!" Taking his hand in hers she tugged at him and continued rushing forward, "It'll be nice. Tommy never lets music at the Garrison, and I'm missing home."

Refusing to be dragged along like a child, he held his pace and eventually Esme dropped his hand and skipped along on her own. Grinning after the woman rushing in front of him, John picked up the pace as Esme rushed through the door just ahead that lead down to the Black Lion Irish pub.

The place had always been a dingy, dusty, literal hole in the ground, usually filled with IRA traitors, but Esme had set her mind to going to this show tonight, and he'd be damned if he let her go alone.

Making his way down the stairs to the Blavk Lion after his gorgeous wife, John could her sounds of glasses clinking, people laughing, and stringed instruments strumming out the beginnings of an upbeat song.

"...Put your dreams away for now, I won't see you for some time..."

Esme had been right — this band did have the sound of a gypsy gathering. This wouldn't be too bad after all. A night of drinking and dancing was just what they needed after the stress and exhaustion over this whole Kimber ordeal.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, John turned to find a table for himself and Esme, only to find himself running into his wife's retreating figure. She had a strange look in her eyes, and it was as if the air around them had shifted entirely.

"What's this now? We just got here!"

Shaking her head at him, she grabbed his hand and spun him back towards the stairs, "I changed my mind. I'm not a fan of this music."

Shaking free of her grasp, John laughed as he questioned her, "What are you on about, woman? This is exactly the type of music we came here for."

Shaking her head, Esme gripped his hand in hers again and attempted to head back up the stairs, "I changed my mind. Let's just go home–"

Cutting her off, John turn to point behind himself at the makeshift stage, "Esme, this is exactly what we came here for. Would you look at them up there! They've even got a banjo..." Searching the stage for another example John let his words trail off as the music reached his ears and his eyes tried to make sense of the sight before him.

"...Momma once told me, you're already home where you feel loved. I am lost in my mind..."

From behind him he felt Esme tug on his arm one last time, but now that he'd seen it, he understood why it was that she'd been so quick to get him out of this dingy, smoke-filled basement of a pub. Esme was a wonderful woman, and she wouldn't want any sort of fight to break out outside of their own territory.

It made sense to him. But he was still confused. But he knew he shouldn't be.

Standing still, frozen to his spot at the base of the stairs — Esme long forgotten behind him — John waited to be noticed.

The pub wasn't too crowded, and he didn't have to wait for more than a second or two before the girl on stage faltered in her singing, the harmonic "oh oh oh's" with her singing partner floating away as she stepped back from the microphone, eyes wide and uncertain.

There it was. He wasn't seeing things. This wasn't a dream — or nightmare as it were. This was real, and the look on her face told him so.

Turning to his wife, but not moving his frozen feet from their spot, he questioned, "Why's my baby sister up on that stage?" Shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders, Esme had no answers for him. But it was clear in her expression that she thought he could lose his temper at any moment.

"John, let's just..." John let her words fade away behind him as he turned back around to face his sister.

Raising one eyebrow — a trait he'd picked up from Tommy — he wordlessly demanded an explanation. Breaking eye contact, Charlotte searched his face and his body — eyes darting from side to side — likely to see if Arthur and Tommy had accompanied him, or if he'd drawn his gun, or had any intention on marching forward to physically remove her from the stage — which wasn't such a terrible idea now that he'd thought of it.

When she concluded that he'd not be making a scene, she too shrugged at the question on his face. No answers from either of them. Was he expecting something different? He should've known better.

Seemingly gathering her wits about her, Charlotte held is eye as she took a breath, stepped forward to the microphone, and began to sing.

"...Oh my brother, your wisdom is older than me..." Smirking at him from across the room, Charlotte wiggled her eyebrows at him teasingly as she continued, "...Oh my brother, don't you worry 'bout me..."

Not bloody likely, he thought.

Up on the stage, Charlotte cracked a wide grin, almost as if she could read his thoughts and continued to sing, seemingly directly to him. If he hadn't known any better, he'd have thought that she'd planned this whole thing — Esme's tip on the gypsy band, his surprise entrance, and her exact song.

However, the shock on her face at his appearance told him that it wasn't likely — and she'd just as soon have him gone.

"...Don't you worry. Don't you worry, don't worry 'bout me..."

Stepping back away from the single microphone on their stage, Charlotte finally broke eye contact as she closed her eyes and began swaying back and forth as a familiar looking boy stepped forward once more "oh oh oh-ing" to the small crowd dancing between them.

Turning back to face his wife, John was uncertain how to proceed. "Did you know 'bout this?"

Shaking her head, Esme explained, "I had no idea. My cousin told me that Johnny Dogs had mentioned a band — a gypsy band — here in Birmingham, and I thought it'd be nice..." Trailing off in her explanation Esme looked over his shoulder to the stage, "Look at her though, John. When was the last time you saw her laughing and having fun like that?" Not giving him time to really think it over she continued, "Not since that copper, I'd imagine, eh?"

Turning around to take in the sight of the stage once more, John couldn't help but agree, "I reckon not." Charlotte, still with her eyes closed, was spinning in a circle, arms outstretched, and a smile on her face.

Once again stepping up to the microphone to sing with the boy, Charlotte looked slightly dizzy, but happy nonetheless. Stomping her foot to the beat they sang along together, and sounded quite nice — now that he was actually listening.

"...How's that bricklaying coming? How's your engine running? Is that bridge getting built?..."

Was that Ezra Harlow with her? And there, playing on the piano, that was fucking Johnny Dogs. He wasn't sure who the other two men were, but from the side-eye glances from Dogs, John knew the man was worried.

"... Won't you tell me my brother, 'cause there are stars..." Taking in a deep breath Charlotte surprised him as the next line came belting from her voice, nearly taking the roof off the place, "... up above..."

Eyes widening at her talent, he couldn't help but mutter to himself, "Bloody hell, she's good." He was getting sucked into the entertainment. The whole of them up there — they were quite good. And he and Esme did need a night out without the kids.

Jerking him from his thoughts, Esme's voice yelled in his ear over the volume of the band, "Well, John? Are we staying?" At this point Esme had a shit-eating-grin plastered across her face, already knowing the answer.

Trying to act the image of a touch gangster, John replied, "Bloody well can't leave her alone in a pub like this, can I?"

Giving him a look that let him know she wasn't falling for his act, Esme quipped, "I don't think she's alone... But suit yourself." Then shedding off her coat Esme tossed is across an empty table and demanded, "Make yourself useful — I need a drink and a dance!"

Scoffing at her, John rolled his eyes, but did as he was told.

Making his way to the counter, John ordered from the barman before turning to lean against the bar, watching his sister as his drinks were poured.

The man pushed the drinks forward towards the edge of the bar and mused, "They're something, ain't they?"

Turning back around he faced the man, intent of getting a bit more information on the situation before this night was said and done, "Sure are. How often they do this here?"

"Oh, it's rare that they do this — in the front, with the crowd." Pointing back to the stage he continued on, "That lad there, with the black hair, he's the owner's nephew or cousin or something the like. So he lets them set up in the back room every now and then for practicing. Tonight's just a special occasion."

Placing a coin on the bar for payment, John realised that the old man had no idea who he was as he took the coin and placed it in his pocket. He was so accustomed to having the coin pushed back in his direction with a not-so-subtle, 'On the house, Mr. Shelby,' that the act of actually paying for a drink felt nearly foreign to him. Hoping to take advantage of the anonymity he questioned further, "When was the last time they played here?"

Pausing to think, the old barman ran a hand through his hair, "Oh, well that would've been maybe eight months ago. Not quite sure though."

"And, em... Who's the broad?" John wanted to see if anyone knew who his sister was. If word got out that Charlotte Shelby was gallivanting around Birmingham on her own — no brothers to speak of — things could get dangerous for her.

"Not sure, goes by Charlie though. But she's sure something special, don't you think."

Testing the man, John casually questioned, "A little young though, eh?" Looking back, John took in the sight of his sister once more. Done up in Ada's old dress, complete with lipstick and her hair pinned, she did look older than her actual thirteen years.

"Can't speak to that, I got no kids myself. But that girl up there — she might be a small little thing, but I've seen her deck a man twice her size just for grabbin' at her while she was having a drink."

"Honest?"

Holding his hands up the man smirked at him, "May the Lord take me now, young man."

Right, well, that was definitely their Lottie then. Small, but scrappy.

Grinning back and nodding a thanks to the man, John delivered the drinks to his wife, announcing, "Might as well have a good time. We're staying 'till their done."

Necking her drink, Esme slammed the glass on the table and demanded, "You better dance with me before I start propositioning any number of these other fine men around me."

"You tryin' to make me jealous Mrs. Shelby?"

Grinning at him, Esme rushed into the dancing crowd, not even looking back to see if he'd follow.

* * *

An hour or so later the band on stage was finishing up their final song and as the pub patrons began checking the time, they began to gather their belongings and make their way to the exit. By the time the song was truly finished, only a handful of people were left — including himself and Esme.

Watching his sister finish up, he tried to gauge whether or not she was planning on making a run for it. He'd watched as she'd spotted him at his table near the back, seeming to calculate all potential outcomes to this scenario. He wasn't near the exit, but he was confident that should she try a runner, he'd reach her before she'd make it up the stairs.

"Esme, be a doll–"

Interrupting him, Esme proved once again that she was more than just keen observer, "And threaten your sister for you?"

"I wasn't gonna say 'threaten' exactly... Only warn her — that's all."

Rolling her eyes at him, Esme scoffed, but did as he'd asked. Making her way to the front, she hugged Charlotte and whispered something in her ear. Charlotte nodded and then shifted her eyes to measure the distance between himself and the stairs. Her eyes wandered back to him, and he shook his head, hoping to curtail any ideas of running that were in her head.

Rolling her entire head at him, her shoulders sagged and she slowly made her way to his table. Motioning to Esme's empty seat, John watched as she eyed him cautiously. After a moment of silent contemplation she sat, but kept her mouth closed.

After a minute of silence, John finished his last swill of rum, and questioned, "What's all this, then?"

Rather than answering Charlotte shrugged her shoulders and looked back to her mates, packing up their instruments.

If she wasn't going to be forthcoming, he might as well get down to business, "Tommy know you're here?"

Spinning back around to face him, she plastered a grim scowl on her face, "I think we both know the answer to that."

"I'm sure we do, but I wanna hear you say it."

Rolling her eyes she gave in, "No, John. Of course Tommy doesn't know." Then sucking in her bottom lip, she chewed on it and squinted her eyes to get a read on him. Not finding what she was looking for she finally questioned, "You gonna tell him?"

He sighed and pretending to think about his response, he took his time before answering, "Do I need to?"

"No?" She clearly wasn't sure what cards to play here. Her uncertainty was understandable, after their row that morning, he wasn't exactly sure how to play this out himself. He knew that there was something going on with her. And now that he'd found it out — he was somewhat pleasantly surprised to find that it really wasn't all that dangerous in the grand scheme of things.

Raising an eyebrow, John gage her a few moments to reconsider her response. Narrowing her own eyes she took in his cool demeanor before responding.

"Can we just keep this between us? If you tell Tommy he's gonna go completely parental. You know he will, and he won't just take it out on me..."

Sighing, John knew she wasn't wrong. Anytime Charlotte ended up testing Tommy, she wasn't the only one that he took his frustration out on. It was guaranteed that he'd get snappy, start barking orders, and just be a grey cloud threatening his wrath on anyone that looked at him the wrong way.

Sighing at her, he acknowledged the truth in her words and pressed on to the seriousness of the matter, "You being safe with all this?"

"Yeah, 'course." Pointing to the boys near the stage she added, "I've got Jessup and Ezra around all the time. And Dogs is always nearby." Raising her voice slightly Charlotte called out, "Ain't that right?"

From behind his left shoulder the bastard in question appeared, grinning from ear to ear, his heavy rouge accent laying it on thick, "That's right, John boy. Youse got nothing to worry about, I've always got me eye on our Charlie girl here."

Turning to eye the Irish traveler, John coolly informed, "I'll deal with you later, you Pikey bastard." Holding his arms up in defence, Johnny gave Charlotte a wink before taking off through a door that seemed to lead towards the back room, out of range of his wrath.

Turning back to his sister, John pointed to her friends, and the gypsy coward, demanding, "So explain it to me then, what is all this?"

Sighing she rubbed her forehead, "Buy me a drink first?"

Rolling his eyes, he stood, cursing under his breath, "Cheeky little shit."

Grinning in response, Charlotte simply raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to give in to her request.

Sighing, John wordlessly made his way to the bar. Nodding to the barman and placing his order.

Watching him cautiously the barman finally got up the nerve to question him, "So, you and the girl...?" Trailing off the question hung heavy in the air, and John couldn't help but grin at the hint of worry in the old man's voice.

"Don't worry old timer, she's me sister."

Still skeptical the man pressed further, "Then why all the questions earlier?"

Sighing and leaning in, John brought the old man into his confidence, "Ya see, that sister mine." Nodding his head back towards the girl in question, "She's got three older brothers who've not a fucking clue how she's been spending her time." Raising his voice so that the hellion in question would be able to overhear he added, "Not a fucking clue that she's not asleep in her bed or having dinner with the neighbour family."

Looking back to see how she'd respond to the reprimand, he was satisfied to see that she had the good sense to look slightly embarrassed at the accusation.

Turning back to the barman, he continued, "So I wanted to get all the information I could before I strangle her, ya see?"

Looking between the two siblings, the barman finally grinned and announced, "Sounds like the truth of a brother to me." Then leaning in he whispered, "Take good care of that one, she really is somethin' special."

Once again leaving a coin on the counter John nodded, drinks in hand, "I'm tryin'. I really am."

Returning to the table, John set the drinks down, and pinned her with a glare, "Right then, start talking."

Sipping at her drink Charlotte drawled, "I'm not sure where to start..."


	15. Chapter 15

A Mind to Tear a Soul in Two: Chapter Fifteen

* * *

One more day.

Only one more day of school until the winter holiday.

She could do this. Only a few hours of school and then she was free. Tonight was their performance at the commons. Tommy wasn't angry with her over anything. John knew her big secret and had promised not to grass. Her birthday was just on the horizon. And everything was coming up heads.

But today was gonna be a good day — she could tell.

Yesterday had been an interesting day — to be sure. Ending with Ada's announcement of her move to London, and beginning with Tommy's announcement to expand the Peaky's enterprise, the day had been filled to the brim with information.

She'd woken up early and as she made her way down the stairs Charlotte was surprised to find Arthur in the shop so early in the morning, "Oi, what're you doing here?"

"Charlie, my girl! It's a good morning, ain't it?"

Pausing on the stairs, she raised an eyebrow at him suspiciously, "What's got you in such a happy mood?"

"It's a good day to be a bookmaker, Charlie."

"Is it now?"

"Fuckin' right, it is."

Clapping his hands together, Arthur jumped up from his chair — leaping towards her — to grab her hands in his.

"Arthur, what are you–"

Her question was cut off as Arthur — still holding onto her left hand — pushed her out towards the staircase, then twirled her back into him to spin under his raised arm. Charlotte couldn't help but laugh at Arthur's behaviour, "You're mad, you know that?"

"I've been told!"

Nearly falling into his arms had the sudden change of dancing, Charlotte gasped as Arthur took hold of her waist, heaved her into the air, and over his shoulder. Before she could catch her breath to question his actions, he began to spin.

Closing her eyes and the flurry of movement, Charlotte squealed at her brother, "Arthur!"

"Hold on tight, Charlie girl! We're goin' places!"

"Put the girl down before you break something, Arthur."

Doing as he'd been told, Arthur dumped her back onto her own two feet. Wobbling slightly, Charlotte shook her head in effort to stop the room from spinning before her eyes.

Falling into the closest chair, Charlotte began to ask Arthur what his excitement was over, but before she could get the words out, the look on Tommy's face had her pausing.

"What's this then? A smile? On Tommy Shelby's face?" Turning to face Arthur, she questioned further, "Did he get knocked upside the head? Has he gone dumb?" Gasping aloud she teased, walking up to Tommy and touching his face as if to make sure he was real flesh and blood, "Is this some sort of doppelgänger? But the nice one instead."

Smacking her hands away from his face, Tommy pushed her towards the kitchen, "Don't be late for school."

Grinning after him she informed, "I've loads of time." Pouring herself a cup of barely warm tea, Charlotte questioned the brothers before her, "So? Are you gonna tell me or not?"

Both stained at her blankly, as if they had no idea what she was talking about.

Rolling her eyes she scoffed at them both, "Gits — the both of you." Draining the rest of her cup she continued, "The dancing, the spinning, the uncharacteristic smiles... What's it all for?"

Folding out the paper as if he hadn't just had a small celebration to rival that of a birthday or wedding, Arthur explained, "Granny Smith is moving out to live with her daughter and grandchildren way down past London."

Scoffing at her oldest brother, Charlotte teased, "Now I know she wasn't your favourite person Arthur–"

Slamming the paper on the table he grew playfully defensive, "That old bat hated me since the first day she moved in next door!"

This time it was Tommy's turn to intervene — after all Charlotte had barely been born when Mrs. Smith had moved in. Pointing a finger at Arthur as if to tell him to calm down Tommy reminded their brother, "Because you stole her laundry right off the line and nearly killed her cat!"

Resuming his shuffling of the morning paper Arthur winked at Charlotte, conceding to Tommy's accusation, "Aye, fair point."

Turning from Arthur, Tommy explained further, "I've agreed to buy her flat to help fund her travels."

"Why?" This too, seemed uncharacteristic. Tommy — and the peaky blinders by extension — were generous at times, but only when there would be a return on the investment.

Other than the crotchety old woman getting the hell out of Birmingham, Charlotte saw no reward for this play of kindness.

"To expand the shop. We'll knock down the wall separating there," Pointing towards the back wall Tommy explained his plan, "Use the space for more offices and a legitimate intake area." There it was — Tommy's return on investment. The woman gone and a larger place of business for himself.

Pausing to imagine Tommy's plan, Charlotte wondered what the matriarch of the family had to say over the prospect of potential construction, "What's Polly got to say about this?"

"Nothing." Shaking his head, Tommy focused on the paperwork on the table in front of him.

"Seems unlikely." Polly always had something to say on any matter.

"She don't know yet." Came Arthur's honest mumble from behind the news.

There it was. "That sounds about right."

Turning to follow Tommy's focused gaze, Charlotte motioned to the items on the table, "What's all this then?"

There were three cashboxes set out on the desk, which was highly unusual.

When she was younger — back before the war — her brother's would make one delivery a week to the bank. But in recent memory the boxes were taken nearly every night. They didn't want any cash stored in the house. Too dangerous.

Smacking her hand away from the box she was hovering over, Tommy informed, "That's the cash for the bank. Don't go getting any ideas."

"Oh, piss off."

Years ago, she and Ezra had made the grievous mistake of pilfering a box and using the cash inside to replace Mr. Harlow's violin that had been stolen from his office at the school he'd taught at. She'd been eight, and since that day she'd made a point to steer clear of the cash boxes altogether.

All those years ago she'd only just stepped through the back door on Watery Lane, but she had known almost immediately something was off.

Looking around the room, Charlotte was surprised at the lineup of grim faces that greeted her. Polly sat at the table, the daily paper open, but clearly unread. Arthur sat across from her, his bouncing knee shaking the entire table. And Tommy stood against the opposite wall, leaning on the hutch, cigarette in hand. Each of their faces were morose in their own way, but all of them obviously had some sort of issue on their minds.

"Where've you been?" Polly's sweet voice didn't match the strain of stress etched across her face.

"Out with Ezra." Then thinking that she might get pinned for some sort of wrongdoing that took place around town, she added, "Stayed at the yard the whole time. I swear it. You can ask Uncle Charlie — or Curly."

"Is that so?" Nodding earnestly, Charlotte grew weary at the unnerving looks on all their faces. She wasn't sure what it was that she needed to say to change the way they were looking at her, but she knew that something must be said. They all obviously didn't believe her.

Something terrible must've happened that had put her name in all their minds as to who they should blame. But she swore it — she had been at the yard with her mates, "We'd been pirates on Curly's barge–"

Nope. This was not the right thing to say. Not the right thing to say in the slightest.

"Fucking pirates?" Tommy pushed himself off the wall, flicked his stick to the ground, and marched towards her.

At the look on his face, lava bubbled up through her veins causing a sweat to break out on her brow, while also melting her feet to the ground — preventing her from making a break for the door she'd just entered through.

"I'm not having this Pol. She knows what she did, and I want the truth of it now."

With less than a foot between them, Tommy squatted down so he was level with her short height. Looking her dead in the eyes he harshly questioned, "What'd you do with it?"

She hadn't a clue what he was on about, but the look in his eyes frightened her.

Aiming to keep calm she looked over Tommy's shoulder to Arthur, hopeful that he might be able to save her from the angry monster before her. But as she caught his eye, he shook his head, making it clear that she'd find no refuge with him.

Shifting her gaze back to Tommy she worked to keep a steady voice as she replied, "With what?"

This too, was absolutely not the right thing to say.

A growl emanated from Tommy that she was certain had started in his toes and grew angrier as it made its way up through his stomach, past his heart, and out his mouth. Before she knew what was happening, he'd reached out — quick as a rabbit — and took hold of the back of her dress.

Lifting her up to set her on the empty chair next to him, Tommy now stood straight at his full height while she stood, knees shaking, suddenly grown over twice her own height.

With one hand still gripping the back of her dress, he raised her slightly so only the tips of her toes could touch the seat of the chair, and with the other he took hold of her chin — forcing her to look directly into his face.

Unable to see her aunt from behind her brother's monstrous form, she wasn't sure what Polly's face read when she heard her voice warn, "Thomas..." Everyone seemed to be deadly serious and still — as if they were walking across a frozen river. Each breath exhaled in the kitchen seemed as if it were actually a cautiously placed step along the slick surface, waiting for the sound of cracking ice to warn of their impending doom.

Tommy's voice was low and dangerous as she listened closely for the sound of fracturing frozen water, "What'd you do with the money from Tuesday's box?"

Well, shit.

The meaning of this gathering suddenly hit Charlotte like a whip on a horses hide. She'd entirely forgotten about the stolen cash. Sure it had been only a few days ago — but so much had happened since then. And her Aunt often told her what a forgetful child she was — but truly, it seemed like ages and ages since Tuesday.

First, she'd been the fearless pirate Anne Bonny, ordering her men aboard her ship to swab the decks and seeking to capture British naval vessels along the Caribbean sea.

After that, she was forced into the role as a captive onboard the dreaded pirate ship Queen Anne's Revenge — captained by the fiercest of scoundrels: Neil Murphy and his brother Judd — from two blocks over on Summerville Road.

She'd absolutely detested being a captive of the Murphy brothers, so when she'd gotten the chance she'd managed to convince the captain's men to mutiny against their leaders, only to take control of the vessel herself. Promising the lot that there'd be sweets and treasures beyond their wildest imaginations once they docked in the New World, she felt completely secure in her new role as the Murphy brothers struggled against their bindings before being forced to walk the plank. They'd then plundered her Uncle's yard before kidnapping two horses and running off into the forest beyond the field.

The day before, or the day after this — she couldn't remember which — she and her companions had discovered the new world in the patch of forest just beyond the yard.

The excitement of their discovery had been brief, when as suddenly as they'd begun to make camp, they'd been set upon by a band of natives seeking their scalps. The brave English colonists had been forced to fight off the native savages which ended in a deadly battle for all sojourners involved.

That day had ended early when Fran Watson — having tripped over one of the slaughtered natives — tried to prevent herself from tumbling down the hill by reaching out to catch herself as she fell.

Any smart person could tell you, when faced with a situation where you're about to take a tumble, it's best to roll into any fall to prevent any injuries — such as Fran's sprained wrist.

A painful shaking brought her back to the present where her brother — still having hold of the scruff of her dress — coldly demanded, "Oi! I asked you a question, Charlotte Shelby. What'd you do with the money from the box?"

"Oh, that..."

For the third time since she'd walked through the back door, she'd come to the realisation that this was once again precisely the wrong thing to say to her brother. A second, angrier growl escaped his lips, and Charlotte felt herself being yanked from her spot on the chair, her vision blurred as her world seemed to spin.

Dragging her from the kitchen into the shop and up the stairs, her feet barely touched the ground as they moved. Protesting Tommy's rough manhandling she shouted as she reached up with her scrawny little arms, trying to loosen his grip on her clothes.

Suddenly and without warning she howled out as she felt a harsh and sudden sting on the back of her legs.

And again.

And again.

They were still in motion — her being dragged to god-knows-where — but that didn't stop his stinging swats from making their mark on her legs, and her back, and her head, and her arms, and wherever else he could smack with his grubby fucking hands.

By now she was kicking back, howling and growling, demanding to be let go. But his strikes didn't stop. Even when they'd stopped moving, the strikes kept coming, causing her to kick out and dance away from his blistering hands.

Soon enough she could hear her aunt screeching above her own howling, "That's enough, Thomas!" She agreed with the woman.

Then there was Arthur's voice, "Let him have at her."

The fucking traitor.

She'd make him regret those words.

Then Polly again, "Let go of her!"

She prayed that her aunt had the right idea of it, and Tommy would let her go rather than listen to Arthur's opinion on the matter. And for a split second she thought that her brother truly had just about enough of whacking her. But when three quick strikes came down solidly on her rear she yelped and kicked out, as tears welled in her eyes.

She'd never been struck like this before.

She'd never been so sorry and so angry all at the same time before.

She'd never had reason to think it before, but she thought she hated Tommy.

He'd taken the strop to her before, but he'd always been clear on his reasoning — and she'd never gotten more licks than her age.

By now she'd lost count how many times he'd struck her.

It wasn't fair. He wasn't following the rules.

Kicking out at him again, she managed to make contact with his shin. Letting loose of her in surprise, Charlotte took the opportunity in drop to the ground like a dead horse.

Attempting to cower in a massive heap on the floor, she was successful in getting the beating to end, but she was less successful in getting Tommy's attention fixated elsewhere.

Grabbing her squarely by the shoulders, Tommy picked her up off the ground and coldly informed, "If you don't stand upright with your feet under you, I'll take you outside and give you a thrashing for the whole lane to hear that'll have what just happened seem like a walk in the park." Raising one eyebrow he looked to be waiting for some sort of response from her, but when none came, he questioned, "Do you understand me?"

Nodding, she moved her hands to rub the sting out of her legs, but before she was able to, he was snapping his fingers at her, "Oi, none of that. You stand there, arms at your sides, and don't you fucking move."

Choosing to refrain from nodding in reply, Charlotte stood, stiff as a stone, watching as Tommy paced up and down in front of her. She refused to so much as shift her eyes to see Arthur or Polly's reaction to what was taking place.

Back and forth, and back and forth he went. She was certain that he'd walk a hole in the carpet if he kept this up. But she continued to stand, unmoving, fearing to even swallow the lump in her throat, lest she bring his wrath upon her again.

She was scared. He was scaring her.

She was also angry. And sorry.

Scared, angry, and sorry. But mostly angry.

"Here's how this is gonna go, Charlotte. I'm going to ask you questions and I only want a single word in response from you."

Pausing to see if she understood, she nodded and he continued, "I don't want no story for an answer. I don't want no lies. I don't want no hands in your mouth. You hear me?"

Nodding her head again, she waited as he nodded his own back at her and moved to light a cigarette. Taking his time lighting the damn thing, she knew he was doing this to torture her.

After taking two deep and slow drags he finally asked his first question, "Did you take the money? Yes or no?"

This seemed like the worst trap that had ever been set for her.

If she answered truthfully, she'd get a smack.

If she lied, she'd get a smack.

If she didn't answer, she'd get a smack.

There was nothing else to do but to dig her own grave, "Yes."

Closing her eyes she immediately winced away from him, preparing herself for the eventual smacking.

After a moment nothing happened, and she opened one eye just a sliver to take a peek at what was going on.

Tommy was just standing there, one hand on his hip, the other holding his cigarette.

"If you answer the truth, you ain't gonna get a whack. Sound fair?"

Bringing her hand to her mouth her nervously chewed on her fingers as she considered her brother's proposal.

"Oi. What did I say? Hand's outta your mouth." Bringing her hands back to her sides, Charlotte worried the fabric of her dress as she raised her chin and finally nodded — agreeing to his terms and giving him permission to ask the next question.

"Did you spend it or give it away?"

"Spent it."

"Did you have help from anyone — yes or no?"

"Yes."

He grew angry at this and she noticed Arthur's fists clench from his spot near her doorway. "Who?"

"Ezra."

"Who?" His face was scrunched in confusion.

She wasn't sure how else she was supposed to answer him, it wasn't a single word answer. Pausing for a moment she finally decided on the single word that would keep Tommy from deciding to haul off and smack her again, "School."

"What?" She'd have to use more words to get through his thick skull. "My mate, from school."

"Harlow?"

He'd gotten it now, "Yeah."

Rolling his eyes he shook his head, "Did you have help from anyone here — in the shop?"

"No."

"So just you and Ezra Harlow?"

"Yeah."

"The two of you went into the office, pilfered the cash, and what? Went out the back door?"

"Yeah." More or less.

"Did you two buy something to keep — yes or no?"

"Yes."

"What did you buy?"

"A fiddle."

"A fiddle? From where?"

Pausing a second, she wasn't sure which question she was to answer. Not trusting herself to make the right decision, she went with both, "Yes, a fiddle. And at a music shop."

At this confession her Aunt shifted from her spot next to Arthur in the doorway, walking towards the middle of the room where Tommy was conducting his interrogation. Speaking to Tommy, but keeping her stern glare set on Charlotte, Polly finally spoke, "As far as I'm aware, there's no shop for fiddles, or violins — or any other instruments for that matter — here in Small Heath."

It wasn't a question, but Charlotte knew she was expected to respond. Unwilling to make her brother angrier with her she kept her mouth closed and looked down to the floor where she proceeded to count the grain in the wood. After all, Tommy hadn't told her she was expected to respond to anyone else other than himself.

For the past two years, Small Heath had been the barrier in which her world resided. When she'd turned six her Aunt and brothers had finally given her permission to explore — all on her own — the world beyond the three blocks surrounding Watery Lane. So long as she was home before sundown there wouldn't be any problems.

But the rules were very clear — she'd not be allowed one step into Bordesley Green or Sparkhill without her Aunt or brothers or Uncle by her side. And she knew if she were to respond to Polly's unasked question, she'd be admitting to a very serious infraction.

"Closest one's in Hockley, I believe." Snapping her head up she looked to her oldest brother.

Fucking Arthur.

Had he put odds on her early demise? Because he was certainly gunning for it.

Turning to their brother, Tommy incredulously repeated the assertion, "Hockley?" As Arthur nodded in response, Polly added her voice as she narrowed her eyes to a stoney glare, "That'd be correct."

Whipping back around to face his sister Tommy posed the question for the second time, "Hockley?" Throwing his half-finished cigarette to the ground, he stomped on it, waiting for her answer.

Unfortunately for her, Polly and Arthur both had the right of it. In fact, there wasn't a fiddle shop within an hour's walk of Small Heath. She and Ezra had managed to hitch a ride on the back of a carriage for their journey to Hockley. But they had discovered the hard way, that the journey was in fact over an hours walk back to their respective homes on their return.

Staring wide-eyed at the angry monster standing before her, Charlotte swallowed the lump on her throat and attempted to croak out a response, "It's not that far, really–"

He was on her so quickly she couldn't even get a proper breath in before she felt him whack her across the head. Once again he had her arm in his grasp and he was going to town walloping her, only this time he couldn't keep his thoughts to himself. "Bloody Hockley!" His hand came down on her legs, "You walked halfway across all of Birmingham with an entire day's stolen earnings!"

He was smacking her head again, "Small Heath not big enough for you?" He was back to whacking her legs and rear, "It's gonna seem as big as all of London when you're sitting here in this room for the next year!"

She wasn't sure if it was the second beating of the day, or the threat of him locking her in her room for all of eternity, but suddenly she was bawling. All fight had left her body. He could smack her around all he wanted, she couldn't feel it anymore. Her fate was destitute.

She was so preoccupied in feeling sorry for herself that she hadn't actually realised that Tommy had stopped his hitting and hollering, and instead had picked her up, setting her to sit on her bed.

Taking note of the discomfort in her rear she turned up the volume in her wails. She was surprised when she heard Tommy's voice speak calmly over the noise she was making, "Open them eyes."

She did so — fervently determined to avoid another round of whacking.

Before her was Tommy. He was kneeling in front of her, a look of irritated patience on his face. Was this what he'd wanted? All that smacking just to get her to cry? If that's what he'd wanted, he should've just said so. She'd gotten real good at pulling out the tears at school when they suited her. She imagined she could've done the same here.

But now, as it were, she was sobbing real tears. Reals tears and the hiccups to match.

She was a right mess. She was certain of it.

She was acting like Ada. Like a silly little girl. She needed to get tough. Crying didn't get you nowhere. She needed to pull the tears back into her eyes and stop her hiccuping altogether. Tough people didn't act like this. Tough people didn't let their sobs wrack their bodies until they were hiccuping. Tough people weren't so foolish.

In fact, right in this room were the toughest people she knew — Polly, and Arthur, and Tom. She needed to be more like them. They wasn't howling over the money, Arthur was keeping quiet and Tommy was just sitting there — waiting for her to stop her bawling.

He wouldn't be patient for long, of this she was certain. None of them would — Arthur especially.

Finally evening out her breathing, she was able to mumble out an accusatory, "You beat me."

A scoff from Arthur on the other side of the room had her glaring in anger. "You got no broken bones. You ain't bleedin'. I don't see any ciggie burns. You maybe got a bruise on your backside." Raising a finger at her he took a step in her direction before Polly's hand had him keeping his place. "But listen here you little weasel, that ain't no beating."

Crossing her arms, she growled at him, "It hurts."

"Good." Pushing Polly's hand to the side he took another step in her direction, "Maybe you'll think twice before stealing from your family and stepping a single toe outside of Small Heath again."

"It weren't stealing." Arthur scoffed, clearly unimpressed at her assertion. Polly only stared, curiously. While Tommy, still squatting before her, breathed out an exasperated sigh as he rose from his haunches and moved to stand next to her dying fireplace. Lighting himself a new cigarette, he took a few moments to calm himself before returning to question his sister.

"It weren't stealing, eh?" Shaking her head at him, she wasn't sure she was supposed to speak or not. "And how's it that taking the lockbox from my desk, emptying its contents into your pockets, and spending every damn shilling, isn't stealing?"

"Cause I was just doing what Polly always says." That had him pausing. Polly raised an eyebrow, clearly needing further explanation.

Squinting at her, Tommy gave her a firm glare before raising an eyebrow at her — just like Polly — and waving her on.

"Polly always says it's the job of the blinders to take care of our neighbours." Looking to her aunt for confirmation, Polly nodded at her statement and she continued, "If someone got hurt, you help. If some old shop is left in shambles, you help them fix it right. If the Garrison were to burn to the ground, you'd build it back up."

Giving her a look that she couldn't quite place, Tommy finally spoke up. Pointing to a spot directly in front of him, he demanded, "Come stand right here."

Shaking her head and pushing herself as far away from him as her bed would allow she worried, "No. you're gonna whack me again."

"You'd deserve it if he did."

Turning to glare at Arthur she gave him a not-so-lady-like gesture with her hand, which had Polly using two hands to hold him back from giving her a whack himself.

Before anything more could be done, Tommy's voice was drawing her attention, "You're gonna get another smacking if I have to repeat myself."

Groaning she pushed herself off the bed and slowly made her way to stand before her brother, "Explain."

"Using all my words?" She needed to be careful, if she got too sassy, she'd be in for it all over again.

"Yes, Charlotte, using all the words."

This was her chance. She'd only get the one to plead her case before they shipped her off to the workhouse. Clearing her throat, Charlotte tried to keep calm and pushed all remnants of tears from her eyes and voice, "Last week Ezra's dad got his fiddle stolen from his office."

Interrupting her story, Polly provided Tommy a bit of explanation before waving her on, "Joe Harlow — he teaches music at the school and gives lessons near the institute."

"Yeah, well. The school says it's his fault it got stolen and won't get him another one. But if he don't have one he can't teach or give lessons."

Pausing, she waited to see if Tommy was following. At his nod, she continued, "Ezra says that if his dad don't have work they'll be on the streets! Or worse — they'll have to move to London with his Gran and Gramps."

Nearly grinning at her dramatics, Tommy questioned, "What's that got to do with us?"

"He's me best mate." Why wasn't he getting this?

"What's Mr. Harlow's fiddle got anything to do with the peaky blinders, eh?"

"He's our neighbour, ain't he? Lives here in Small Heath. It's our job to take care of them."

Laughing as she brought her fingers up to the bridge of her nose Polly muttered, "Christ. She's too smart for her own good."

This time a grin did pass across Tommy's face as he muttered her words to himself, "It's 'our job' is it now, eh..." Running a hand through his hair and over his face Tommy sighed heavily and slowly sunk into her sitting chair.

The tides were turning. Charlotte could feel it. Polly and Tommy were both on her side — Arthur was an entirely different matter though.

Unlike Tommy, Arthur's mood generally leaned towards that of a right old grump. Tommy never wanted to be angry or irritated, he was always the first to break up a family argument with a laugh or joke. While Arthur was usually the one that started the fight with an angry glare or harsh word.

"How much did the damn thing cost?" Tommy's voice brought her back to the matter at hand.

Shrugging, she replied, "Dunno."

"You don't know?" He seemed suspicious.

"We just paid for it and left."

"Tell me how it happened."

"When we got to the shop, the owner told us to scram. Said us little street urchins had no business in his shop. We told him we wanted to buy a fiddle, and he laughed at us. So I took out the money and put it on his counter. I told him that we was there for serious business to buy a violin with real money."

She paused, waiting to see if that was enough of the story, or if she was supposed to continue.

A raised eyebrow and a questioning glare gave her permission to keep on, "He counted the cash and gave us the fiddle and a case, and extra strings. And then we was off."

"He didn't give you any money back?"

"No? He gave us the fiddle." Crossing her arms she gave Tommy a glare back, she wasn't a dolt — she knew how to buy something. She'd been sent out plenty of times with money for a cob, or a bag of sweets, or a new pair of socks. She'd also accompanied Polly on tons of trips to the market. Shopping wasn't anything new to her. "I'm not thick. I've seen it done before, that's how you buy things."

Sighing, Tommy informed, "There shoulda been leftovers, Charlie."

Pausing, she suspiciously questioned, "How'd you know that?" Now she wasn't so sure. She'd not thought about leftovers. Maybe she really didn't know how to do the shopping.

"Because I know how much was in the box." This time when she brought her fingers to her mouth to worriedly chew on the skin around her nails, Tommy didn't scold her. Instead, he leaned in, a noticeably nicer look on his face as he simply took her hand in his as he questioned, "You certain he didn't give you any change?"

She shook her head and promised, "Certain. Cross me heart."

Nodding at her, Charlotte could tell he believed her. She could also tell he thought her dim at the lack of knowledge in her shopping skills, but she'd take his mild irritation over raging fury any day.

Turning away from her, he simply called to their oldest brother, "Arthur?"

"I'm on it." Nodding once, Arthur was quickly out the door and shuffling down the steps.

"What's he gonna do?"

"None your business."

Was he going to fetch the instrument from Mr. Harlow? Was he going to hurt him? Blind him? Make him pay for what she'd done? Her breath hitched and she raised her voice, "But if Mr. Harlow can't teach–"

"Quit yammering. He's going to the shop, not to your Mr. Harlow."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"For the extra?"

"Yes."

"Because I paid too much."

"Something like that."

"So Mr. Harlow — he gets to keep it?"

Sighing, Tommy shook his head and looked to the ceiling, "It's what we do, ain't it?"

"That's what Polly says — and she's the smartest of all you."

She'd spent the rest of that month either confined to her room or writing lines in Arthur's office, promising that she'd never touch a money box ever again — or else.

Since that day all those years ago, she'd never felt the rebellious desire to find out what 'or else' entailed, choosing instead to focus her rebellion on much safer outlets.

Flying forward in time, back to the present, Charlotte laughed as Tommy pushed her away from the table towards the kitchen chiding, "Come now, Charlie. That's not very lady like."

From behind his paper Arthur drawled out his tease, "I think the days of us making our Charlie a lady are long gone."

Smirking at her, Tommy reached over to tug on her hair, "Such an embarrassment."

From behind her, Arthur agreed, "A real disgrace."

Turning her back to their playful banter, Charlotte reached for a slice of bread and her winter jacket before Tommy's voice had her pausing, "We'll have a meeting tomorrow night — late — and tell everyone else."

"Why late?"

"I'll be in London on a few errands."

"What errands?"

"For starters, the bank with the title is in London, and I'll need to go in person to start the transfer of ownership."

All of this was boring her now. Focusing on buttering her bread, she let Tommy's voice fade into the background.

"Don't be late for school. And come straight home after you're done at the yard."

"Sure."

"Say it."

"I'll be home right after the yard."

"Good girl. Off you go."

And for once she listened. She'd gone out the door, headed straight for school, and attended Ada's dinner afterwards.

Now here she was, one more day and she was free. That's all she needed to focus on to get her through the endless droning of Mr. This, Miss. That, and Mrs. Who-the-fuck-cares. Sleeping in, warm Christmas cakes, birthday celebrations, and freedom.

One more day.

* * *

He was losing his patience, and the rest of the family could tell. Every second that ticked away on the clock acted like a gear grinding on his last nerve.

"Give her a few more minutes, Tommy." Resting a hand on his shoulder, Polly tried to calm him — it wasn't going to work.

Pushing the hand away, he held a finger in her face, "This is the second time this week, Polly. I will not tolerate this."

Sitting at the far end of the table, irritable and impatient — arms crossed and his matchstick flicking between his tongue and teeth, John glared as he mumbled to himself.

He couldn't force his sister to magically appear before him, but he could drag the insolence out of John while they waited, "What was that John? You got something to say? Make sure the whole fucking family can hear you." Waving his arms around, Tommy could sense the nervous glances from his uncle and older brother at the potential confrontation.

"Alls I'm saying is–"

"Alls you're saying? Alls you're saying?"

"Yeah, alls I'm saying is that maybe she needs a break, eh? She's only thirteen, Tom — lay off."

"Oh shove it John, you stick to raising your own children and leave Charlotte to Tommy." Ada's smart mouth was doing nothing to keep the peace.

"Well, I got four of 'em, ain't I? Maybe I know a thing or two more than him, Ada." As John stood and pointed across the table at him, Tommy wanted nothing more that to break that fucking finger off and shove it down his goddamned throat.

"Oh fuck off. Your kids ain't any measuring stick we should be holding this next generation up to." Ada had a point.

"Fine then! Whatcha gonna do then? March her outside the second she walks in the door and give her a beating, just like Da? Is that your plan?" Tommy refused to answer. He'd not take the bait at the mention of their father. "As long as she's not getting into any trouble, what's the bother?"

"And how the fuck am I supposed to know she's not getting herself into trouble if I don't know where the fuck she is?"

Once more Polly stood and rested a hand on Tommy's shoulder, "Try not to worry, Thomas. She'll be back."

"You don't know that."

Giving him a look she patted his cheek, "Yes, I do. Now have a tea and sit back, she'll show up some time — she always does." Then moving towards the coat rack Polly attempted to take her leave, "Thomas, I've got somewhere to be. You can fill me in on this later."

"No. Stay." He wasn't accustomed to barking orders at his aunt, and she wasn't accustomed to hearing them. But he needed her to be here for this — otherwise he might lose his head.

"Pardon?"

It was said in a polite manner, but Tommy could tell it was anything but.

"Just wait. Fifteen more minutes, and I'll start–"

"You've got fifteen minutes, Thomas." Tommy didn't respond to his aunt's warning, which clearly failed to please her, "Do you hear me? Fifteen minutes–"

"I fucking hear you, Pol." He was in no mood for a lecture from anyone.

Tommy watched as his aunt rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair. To his left Tommy watched his uncle rose from his spot at the table and moved towards him.

"Tom, before we start this business, let's have a talk in your office."

"What for?" He didn't have the energy to deal with this circus at the moment.

"Just do an old man a favour, eh?" Motioning Tommy towards his own office, his uncle beckoned him in and closed the door behind them.

Taking a seat on the edge of his desk, Charlie gave him a look before questioning, "How've things been going, Tom?"

Taking a deep breath, Tommy ran his hand over his face as he sunk into his desk chair, "As soon as we can get these shipments out–"

Interrupting him, his uncle held his gaze, "I'm not asking about work. How's home?"

Pausing, Tommy looked to the ceiling wondering where this was going, "It's grand, Charlie. Just grand." Tommy tried not to wince as his uncle clicked his tongue at him. It was a warning — his mother used to do the same thing when she'd grow impatient. Sighing, Tommy gave in, "Charlotte seems fine. She's going to school, working with Curly and the horses, staying at home in the middle of the night — at least as far as I know."

Lighting a cigarette from his pocket, Tommy slowly exhaled nodding to his uncle, "We're all doing fine, Uncle Charlie."

The old man watched him cautiously. There was something there. Something he wasn't saying. "Hmmmmm."

"What's this about?"

Standing and turning away, his Uncle flicked the ashes of his own cigarette on the ground as he thought deeply. Finally turning to face him again, Charlie shook his head and moved towards the door, "It's nothing, Tom." Then adding, "Good that things are well."

"Charlie, what is it?"

Again, a long pause. Far too long for Tommy's liking. "Well, you should really talk to her before you go off–"

This was getting old, "Get to the point, Uncle Charlie."

"Watch yourself, son." Pointing a finger at him, his uncle gave him a deep glare — once again, not unlike his mother's, "You should ask your sister about working with Curly."

"What's it I should be asking about?"

Signing in defeat, Charlie threw himself into the chair opposite Tommy before explaining, "Well, I haven't seen her." He took a deep breath before quickly adding, "It doesn't mean she hasn't been — but I haven't seen her around."

This time is was Tommy's turn to pause — the wheels in his head turning, mulling over the information that he'd just been given. He could tell his Uncle hadn't wanted to say anything. He clearly saw this as some sort of betrayal — Tommy was certain that Charlotte would see it that way as well.

His uncle and him had gone through a similar conversation a few weeks after returning from France. That time it had been about Charlotte's late night adventures — sneaking out, roaming Birmingham, and taking the horses for rides while everyone else was asleep.

Finally finding his words, Tommy rose from his chair and moved to the door, "Well Uncle Charlie, let's get this meeting over with. And after, we can all go on the hunt for our missing Charlotte."

* * *

Along her walk home in the brisk winter air, Charlotte let her coat billow in the wind — the cocaine coursing through her system acting as a shield against the sharp December chill.

As the heels of her hand-me-down oxfords clicked along the cobbled streets she thought over Ada's news from last night's dinner.

London really wasn't too far away — closer than New York. And they'd never been the closest of sisters. Even during the war when it was just the two of them, Ada had always found better things to do than spend her time with her kid sister. They were two very different people, after all.

Ada was all ribbons and curls. In a world of dirt and grime, Ada worked to make herself a sparkling jewel separate from the rest of the Shelby's.

Whereas Charlotte wanted nothing more than to lean into their world. She'd always known that the peaky blinders had been more than just gambling and neighbourhood protection. And she wanted in on all the action.

When Ada would complain about having to attend some family meeting, Charlotte was begging to be allowed in — ear pressed to the door, hoping to catch a hint of whatever it was she was locked out on.

The differences had never really bothered Charlotte too much — she had Curly, and Uncle Charlie, and the horses for family when she needed the company.

But now it seemed their family was fracturing. Even if Ada has always been a right pain in the ass, she'd always been nearby. Same with John when he'd gotten married, and Arthur when he'd moved out all those years ago.

They were away, but not really gone.

But now... Now Ada would be right and truly gone. Taking Karl and Freddie with her.

Freddie being gone might help with Tommy's irritability. But she knew he'd worry over Ada — not that he'd need to, but he would nonetheless. He really was a mother hen. A big, tough, murderous, gangster mother hen.

Finally reaching home, Charlotte opened the back door, and grew was slightly worried to find it unlocked. That meant someone was home and awake.

She'd been hoping that the meeting had been well and over, meaning an empty house with all the Shelby's and company having parted ways for the night.

Stepping into the kitchen Charlotte found Polly sitting at the table, playing a game of cards by herself. Not looking up from her game, Polly addressed her niece, " Oh my girl... You are asking for it, aren't you?"

"Asking for what, Pol?"

Still not looking up, she quipped, "Asking to die young."

Taken aback, Charlotte slowly questioned, "What does that mean?"

"Means, I'm not sure if it'd been better had you been hurt or kidnapped." Scooping the cards up and straightening them in her hands, Polly finally looked up and gave her a once over.

"You, looking like this — coming home in one piece — I'm not sure which way this'll end for you."

"What're you on about?"

"Your brothers are out searching Birmingham for you."

That had her pausing, "What? Why?"

"Have you checked the clock? You know what time it is?" Fishing the old pocket watch out of her pocket Charlotte questioned, "It's half after one." Putting the thing back she added, "It's the Friday before the winter holiday? I'm always out late before any holiday."

"You missed the meeting."

"Yeah, but Tommy never said I needed to be there. And I already knew what it was about."

"Well, you'll get to explain that to him when he returns."

This didn't make any sense. Tommy was out hunting for her, all because she missed the meeting? A meeting that he never told her she needed to attend in the first place. "Ada's missed family meetings, he's never put out a manhunt for her."

"Our Ada's never been attacked by a copper, now has she?" Giving her a firm glare Polly raised one eyebrow, waiting to see if she'd have anything more to say on the matter. When Charlotte simply stared back, Polly tapped her cards on the table, aligning them together and placing them in a nice pile, and sighed knowingly.

Standing, she finally took the time to look at her niece when speaking to her, "But this isn't my problem anymore. Your brother wants me to stay out of it. He says that you're his responsibility now, and he'll deal with you as he sees fit. So there's that."

Leaning down over Charlotte, Polly gave her a kiss on the head, before grabbing her jacket from the back of the chair and making her way towards the shop door, "I'd suggest you stay put. No more adventures tonight. You wait right there at that table for your brother to arrive home."

"Where you going?"

"I've got plans for tonight that have already been delayed due to Thomas' demands. You're home and safe, so I'm off."

"When's he coming back?"

"Any time now, I'd expect." Moving towards the cigarette box on the mantle, Polly took the time to light up before adding, "I'd suggest you make yourself easy to find once he arrives home. Goodnight, love." And with that she was off, the door to the betting shop swinging closed behind her.

Taking a deep breath and running her hands through her hair, Charlotte tried to stamp down the anxiety growing inside of her. She didn't think Tommy would go out searching for her. He clearly thought she might've been in danger. And he wasn't likely to be relieved at the state of her uninjured trouble-free self when he arrived home.

Turning to the tea kettle on the stove she thought to make herself a cup as she waited at the table for Tommy to arrive home.

She needed an explanation. She needed to be calm and composed. She needed a cup of tea.

Reaching for a cup from above the stove, Charlotte paused as a gust of wind barrelled through the house. Not a second later she started at the sound of the shop door flying open, rattling on its hinges as it slammed into the wall opposite.

"CHARLOTTE!" Spinning at the sound of her name, Charlotte froze in panic at the sight before her.

Beyond the velvet curtains and the green doors, past the intake tables and the blackboard covered in outdated odds, stood Tommy. His face flushed red in anger and worry, was barely visible beneath his razor cap pulled low over his brow.

Just behind him she was able to catch a glimpse of Arthur and John — and curiously, Isaiah — before the door was slammed closed, and a growl emanated from her brother that made him seem more like a bear than a man.

Striding towards her, his jacket flapped behind him as if the power of his own rage was creating a wind vortex around himself. As he continued across the shop towards the kitchen, each stomped step sent vibrations across the house's floorboards and straight up her spine.

Tearing her eyes away from the imposing figure of Thomas Shelby, Charlotte allowed her panic to flow through her as her eyes darted around, looking for a route to escape the wrath her brother was sure to bring down upon her.

As if reading her mind, Tommy's stride didn't falter as he demanded, "Don't even try it." Adding with an angry gesture towards his desired location, "My office, now!"

Shaking in panic as each step her brother took brought him within strangling distance of herself, Charlotte found herself once again moving without thinking. Torn between following orders and saving her own hide, Charlotte made the split second decision to run for it.

Something in her body language must've relayed her intention, because as she lurched towards the back door, Tommy dove toward her.

Just as her hand reached the door's handle she felt the wind fly from her lungs as strong arms wrapped around her middle, pulling her backwards. He feet were lifted from the ground and the room spun as Tommy angrily manhandled her small frame.

Shouting in protest, Charlotte tried to fight back as much as she could with her back pressed to Tommy's front, and his arms squeezing the life from her. Flinging her arms and legs, trying to get a fair shot in, Charlotte was certain she must look like a cat straight out of hell.

Shifting her weight to one side, Tommy managed to hold tight to her body with only one arm as he dragged her through the double green doors towards his office. Flinging open the office door with his free hand, he barely managed to step over the threshold still gripping flailing bundle of arms and legs.

Once fully inside he flung Charlotte towards a chair and slammed the door closed behind him, "Sit the fuck down."

Stumbling away from her brother, Charlotte straightened herself and rounded on him, "Go to hell, Thomas!"

"Already there, sweetheart."

"Don't call me–"

"Charlotte, do not test me. Shut up and sit down."

"No."

At her declaration Tommy stormed forward, fire in his eyes. Turning to run, Charlotte quickly remembered where she was and her lack of escape route. Before another thought could cross her mind her felt an unmistakable pinch and pull on the back of her neck that relayed Tommy's exact level of furry.

If she recalled correctly, he was about two smartass comments away from throwing her out the back door and taking the strop to her backside.

Best to do as she's told at this point. Giving up the fight, Charlotte allowed her brother to push her forward and into the chair opposite his desk.

Sitting silently in the chair, Charlotte sat waiting and watching her brother pace back and forth in front of the door — effectively blocking any chance of escape.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched the hands on the old wall clock tick by as the seconds turned into minutes.

Finally, just when she thought maybe he'd gone mad, words left his mouth, "Where've you been?"

Pausing before answering, she felt she needed to make this conversation go as casually as possible to save herself from a right and proper beating. Clearing her throat she tried to sound convincing as she lied, "Fell asleep in the stall." She hadn't had time to come up with a detailed lie to relay to him while she waited, but this seemed plausible enough.

At her statement Tommy only blinked, not bothering to reply. Sitting in silence once again, her anxiety too over and she began to ramble on, "I was so tired, so I thought I'd take a quick nap. I didn't think I'd sleep for so long." Pausing to see if he'd respond, she continued on at his lack of reply.

"I didn't think you'd send out a search party. It was only a family meeting... Not like I missed tea with the King or anything. You didn't say I had to be there."

"Didn't think I needed to at this point." His voice was flat and low. She needed to be cautious.

"I'm sorry. I'll make sure I'm at the next one."

"You said that about this meeting."

"Yeah... Well... I messed up, I fell asleep. I'm sorry."

"You fell asleep?" There was something in his voice that made her pause.

"Yeah."

"In a stall, with the horses?"

"Yes."

"Which horse?" He was speaking slow and purposefully. Almost as if he were setting a trap.

"What?"

"Which horse's stall did you fall asleep in, Charlotte?"

"Why?"

"Answer the fucking question."

"I don't know. Why does it fucking matter?"

"Because I don't believe you." Glaring at her from across his desk, he questioned again, "You sure you were with the horses?"

"Yes."

"I had a conversation with Uncle Charlie today..." He trailed off, giving her a look. Expecting her to know why and what he'd spoken with their uncle about. She wasn't going to take the bait.

"Sound interesting, Tom." Rising from her chair, Charlotte tried to end this line of questioning before she dug herself a grave she wouldn't be able to climb out of, "But I'm tired and–"

"Sit down."

She ignored the order, "I'm tired, can we talk about this in the morning?"

"It is the morning."

Whining, she tried again, "Tommy–"

"I said, sit down!"

Startling her into submission, Charlotte quickly fell back into the chair. Looking down into her lap, she fidgeted with her fingernails as she waited for whatever it was that was to come next.

After a minute or two, she heard a drawer open and a thud on Tommy's desk had her looking up to him, "You remember the rules I had you write in here?" It was the notebook he'd brought her the night of the family vote. The night she thought she'd gotten her independence.

"Yes."

"I don't think you do." Flipping through the pages in the notebook he acted overly interested in what had been written there all those months ago, "Let's go over them again, shall we?"

"What's your point here, Tommy?" She was trying to keep cool. Trying to stay level-headed. But he was pushing her limits.

Ignoring her he instead read from the notebook, "First, going to school. You been going to school everyday?"

"Yes." She nearly growled the word at him.

"Good."

"Second, no fighting. How many fights have you gotten in these past few weeks?"

"None."

Tsking at her, he cocked his head, and informed, "What about with John?"

"Fine, one. I've been in one fight." She levelled her voice. He was playing cat and mouse with her. And she wasn't going to sit back and let him.

"Third, no sneaking out. Have you been going out the back window?"

"No." Crossing her arms, she prayed that John had stayed true to his word. This whole game would be over right now if he'd gone and grassed on her. Not looking up from the book Tommy continued on and she let out a small sigh of relief.

"Fourth, no drinking–"

"I've only been drinking what you lot let me."

"Don't interrupt me again." His tone sent a chill up her spine. He was not joking around. She needed to be careful.

"And finally, no lying. You've been lying to me, Charlotte?"

"No." Her answer was fast and firm.

"No?"

Holding his eye she evenly responded, "That's what I said."

Blinking slowly at her, he rose from his chair, closed the book and slammed it down on the table. Flinching at the sudden switch, she drew back as he leaned over his desk to shout at her, "Stop fucking lying, Charlotte!"

She gave it her best attempt at staying calm, but now she allowed her level of rage to match his, "I'm not!"

Breathing heavily, they stared across the desk at one another. Each willing the other to give in.

This tactic was a common occurrence. For Tommy, it gave Charlotte the opportunity to give into the uncomfortable silence and start confessing. For Charlotte, it gave her brother time to calm down and consider if this was a battle worth fighting.

This time, though, the stakes were too high. Neither was going to give in.

Charlotte knew that if Tommy had proof of any wrongdoing, he would've nailed her to the cross by now. He's guessing. He's working off of a hunch — a suspicion — nothing more.

Something in this conversation he had with Uncle Charlie said set him on this path, but he was still feeling around, trying to find his way. Hoping to break her with shouts, angry glares, and long silences.

He should know better.

She wasn't going to give in that easily.

She only needed to stay the course. Don't give in, and he'd have nothing to hold over her.

The only person that could sign her death warrant at this point was herself.

She was feeling kinda cocky, thinking this battle won and done, when Tommy reached into his pocket and slammed a shiny shilling on the desk between them.

A scowl settled on her face and she looked from the coin back up to her brother — anger beginning to take over once again.

"You know what to do with this."

"No."

"You need some time to think, in a few minutes we'll have another conversation." His voice was all business now. Settling himself in his chair, Charlotte could tell he thought this part of the conversation over. Leaving the coin on the edge of the desk he reached over and pulled a ledger in front of himself.

Leaning over it, he read for a few moments before lifting his eyes to look at her from below his lashes.

He expected obedience. He wasn't going to get it.

"What is it you want from me?"

His voice was lazy and he returned his eyes to the book below him, "I want you to tell me the truth."

"I am!"

Still looking to the book, "Take the coin." His voice was so fucking casual it made her want to commit murder.

She was exhausted, he was too — she could tell. She only wanted to leave this all behind and go to sleep. The fastest way to end this was to give in to her brother. Just do as he asked and let the cards fall where they may.

But if she took the coin it was almost as if she'd be admitting guilt.

If she argued her innocence it could just make him angrier.

There was no way to win this.

As she sat deliberating her options she watched his shoulders tense and fists clench. He wasn't reading the book. He was pretending — he was bluffing. He was waiting for her to make the first move.

Sitting across from each other, she suddenly saw what everyone in the family was always going on about. She could see herself reflected in his eyes. She could see her own stubborn nature mirrored in his body language.

In order to win, she had to meet him on his own platform. She had to rise to his level. Walk in his shoes — just as she'd done as a little girl.

Standing, she growled at him, "I'm not doing this." Then stepping toward the door she aimed for confidence. The drug coursing through her system helped. But the pure ice in her brother's voice made her falter.

"You take one step through that door, and you'll regret it."

Rage coursed through her and she spun to face him. Marching towards his desk in a rush of anger and insolence she picked up the coin, demanding, "Where?"

Who was she kidding? She was too hot-headed to go at him right now. Too much of Arthur in her. She'd play along for now, and if things began to move south for her — then she'd really go all in.

Coldly pointing to the wall across from him she spit out, "Fuck you." Before turning and placing the coin against the wall. As she replaced her finger with the tip of her nose she heard Tommy's chair scrape against the wooden floors. Preparing herself for a lecture, she felt slightly relieved when she heard him walk out of his small office toward the back of the shop.

He could go straight to hell. She would play his game for now, to save her hide, but she wouldn't let this become a regular event moving forward. Fucking hell, she was nearly fourteen. She was to have a job with the family business — granted, it wasn't a job she was strictly interested in performing at the moment, but it was a job nonetheless.

Hearing his footsteps returning, Charlotte closed her eyes and tried to even her breathing. She needed to get calm. She needed to prepare herself for his needling. "What do I have to do to get you to behave?" She refused to answer. This wasn't a conversation, this was a lecture. And she refused to be a willing participant.

"Would a bodyguard work? Do I have to make some poor blinder follow you around all day to make sure you're where your suppose to be at any given moment?" She could hear him pouring himself a glass of whiskey — she could smell it.

"Do I need to send up to the caravan with the clan? Do you need some old fashioned living to get you acting appropriately?"

At his last rhetorical question, Charlotte's mind began to unravel. The caravan? Was he going to send her away to live with their grandmother's clan in a wagon?

There had always been a Shelby wagon stashed in the garage down the street where Tommy parked the family car, but she'd never thought of it as anything more than a piece of history.

When she was younger, she'd spend hours in the wagon playing around, pretending to be the gypsy princess Aunt Pol had always told her she was. It was an escape from reality, a hidden entrance to a secret world. It was her secret place where she could pretend that she wasn't an orphan, or her brothers weren't away fighting some war she didn't understand.

But now he was threatening to send her away in it. He was gonna send her away to live with the clan. She didn't think she'd be able to survive that; all the rules, no brothers, no Ezra. She'd be all on her own.

Turning away from the wall, she paid no mind to the sound of the coin clattering to the ground behind her. "Please, Tommy, don't send me away. Please."

Reaching out to take hold of his arm she could see her brothers mouth moving, but the words never reached her ears. The sound of her own heavy breathing seemed to fill the room, and just behind that was a ringing noise that was seeming to get louder and louder every second.

"I'll do better. I promise. Just don't send me away."

She was begging. She was panicking. She was shaking. She was getting lightheaded.

By now she'd taken hold of both Tommy's arms, refusing to let go of the coarse fabric that made up his heavy winter coat. Looking up into his face she tried to continue her protestations, but it seemed she'd lost the ability to do anything but breath out, "No... Please..." over and over again.

Without realising what was happening she found herself being led backwards to sit in the chair once again.

Tommy was speaking, and his face was calmer — slightly concerned even — but she still couldn't make out his words. Charlotte watched him speak, utterly confused as to where the ringing noise was coming from and why it wasn't going away.

After a minute a look of realisation crossed her brothers face and he began to pry her white-knuckled grip off of his jacket. Resting a hand on her shoulders he pushed on her back until her head was resting between her knees.

Tommy had seen this before. This panic attack. He knew it would just take some time for her hearing to return and her senses to come back. Kneeling down in front of his sister he couldn't help but admonish himself for bringing this on.

Rubbing his hand over his sisters bent back he sighed in frustration. He wasn't going to send her away, he should've never brought it up. But he wished she would stop with this misbehaving. She needs to get herself under control. Tommy knew he was never gonna be able to do it for her, he was only there to guide her along. She had to come to act like an adult on her own.

What was that saying? You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink.

Jesus Christ, his sister was driving him to platitudes.

"Just breathe in deep, Charlie. Just breathe."

Charlotte's mantra had died down and she was still breathing heavily, but the shaking had stopped. He wasn't convinced she could hear him just yet, but he offered the words up just in case.

What a sight they were. Not two minutes ago he'd been ready to drag the girl out back intent on delivering the whipping she deserved until she confessed the truth to him. But now here they sat, her sobbing with her head between her legs, him kneeling in his own office offering words of comfort to the misbehaving teenager.

Never a dull moment in the Shelby home.

"Charlie? Can you hear me?" Waiting patiently for a response, he was surprised at how relieved he was at her verbal response — mumbled as it was.

"I hear you."

"Good. Now let's sit up, eh?" Guiding her upright, he sighed at her pink, blotchy face. "Come on now. It's alright."

Taking in a deep breath, Charlotte began again, "Please, Tommy. Please don't send me to the caravan–"

Interrupting her, he reached forward to wipe a tear from her cheek, "Stop. I'm not gonna send you away. I shouldn't have said that."

"You promise?"

"I promise." Still kneeling in front of her he reached forward with both hands to take hold of her face, forcing all her focus to be on him, "But Charlie, things need to change. I need you to stop lying. I need you to be where you say you're gonna be, and do what you say you're gonna do. You hear me?"

As she nodded her head at him, he stood suddenly realising how his knees seemed to be screaming in pain at him. Trying to refrain from grunting like an old man as he rose he made sure he had his sister's undivided attention.

"The next time I find you lying to me, I won't stop for a chat. I'll be marching you straight out that back door for a beating you won't soon forget. Do you hear me?"

As she nodded again at him, he sighed demanding, "Say it, Charlie."

"Yes, Tommy. I hear you."

Pausing at her words, he considered what to do next. He knew she wasn't giving him the full truth. But he wasn't getting anywhere with her at the moment. Might as well go to bed, and deal with the rest in the morning.

"Right. Now upstairs, to bed." Nodding at him, she rose to her feet and slowly made her way through the open door.

"And Charlie?" Pausing, Tommy waited for her to turn and face him, "Tomorrow, I don't want you leaving this house. There's plenty that needs to be done around here, and you're going to be making sure it gets done. You'll not leave the house until I see every chore is done and finished, and we've finished this chat."


	16. Chapter 16

A Mind to Tear a Soul in Two: Chapter Sixteen

* * *

Fucking hell.

Bloody fucking hell.

The lights of number five Watery Lane were ablaze.

Goddamnit.

The house and shop were suppose to be empty.

It was officially first of January 1920 and Tommy had made sure that work was suspended and his entire family would be occupied elsewhere.

Esme and John had taken the kids and a wagon out to meet the Lees.

Arthur was at the Garrison, hopefully facilitating the party — rather than partaking in it.

And Charlotte was staying with Polly for the next few nights.

Granted, he was suppose to be in London himself. But that was entirely besides the point.

What was entirely the point however, was that the premises of numbers five and six Watery Lane should've been completely vacant given his manipulation of the schedules of his family, as well as the fact that it was 2:30 in the fucking morning.

Heading down alley to the back entrance of Watery Lane, Tommy checked his gun and prepared himself for a fight.

Peeking in through the windows he couldn't see anyone lurking or anything amiss, but his nerves were still on edge. Something here wasn't right. Checking the handle, he grew anxious when he realised the damn thing wasn't locked.

Slowly opening the door, Tommy could hear some sort of ruckus coming from upstairs.

Strange, that. There was nothing of interest up there other than old ledgers and a few weapons.

Stepping in and quietly closing the door behind himself, Tommy carefully scanned the kitchen. The doors to the shop were closed, but everything in the kitchen seemed to be in order.

Slowly making his way to the pantry, he flung the door open and pointed his gun inside — nothing.

Same with the sitting room.

Upstairs he heard music and yelling.

What in the holy hell was happening here?

Making his way back to the kitchen he flung open the doors to the shop, his eyes darted to the corners of the room, his gun taking aim at any potential intruders.

But again, nothing was amiss.

Moving next to his office he checked the drawers and cupboards. The lockbox was still sitting in its home in the bottom drawer, filled with this past week's earnings.

Fucking what?

If someone were to rob them, this would be the first thing that went missing.

Closing up his office, Tommy headed to the staircase. Intending to make his way slowly up the stairs, he put one foot on the first creaky step just as the racket above came to a screeching halt. Wincing, Tommy paused in hopes that his movement hadn't alerted the intruders to his presence.

"Not like that! If you stop playing, it'll sound better. Try again."

Charlotte.

He should've known.

These past few weeks over the winter holiday had been relatively easy going. Tommy'd been head down, nose in his work, and so too — it seemed — had his sister.

She'd been diligently tending to the horses — accompanied by a blinder to ensure her work ethic was up to his standards, of course.

She'd been taking in bets, keeping up with the ledgers, and generally not making a fuss.

He wasn't sure if it had been his empty threat to send her out in a wagon with their mother's clan, or something else. But she seemed to be getting on just fine.

Until now, that is.

Once again music started up, and what he had moments before thought was yelling, turned out to be very boisterous singing. Drunken singing, he might say.

Holstering his gun, he slowly started up the stairs.

" _...Ain't goin' back to Barton Hollow..."_

Tommy could hear instruments and laughter. Some strange sort of pounding and the clear sound of Charlotte's voice.

" _...Won't do me no good washin' in the river..."_

A thud, more laughter and a halt in the music.

"Charlie, you're gonna break your neck and we're gonna be the poor sods stuck explaining to Tommy Shelby what happened to his dearly departed sister." He recognised the voice, but couldn't place it.

More laughter.

"Oh, Tommy can go straight to hell."

Really now?

More laughter. How many people were up here?

"It's a new year, lads. Let's just have some fucking fun." These sister's of his. Apparently all it took was holding either of them up indoors for a few weeks and the first chance they get, they're off like a fucking firecracker.

"Right then. Again!" A different voice than before.

The music started up again, and the singing resumed.

" _...Ain't goin' back to Barton Hollow..."_

Continuing on up the stairs Tommy listened in for more information.

The same lines of song, repetitive creaking, and the same instruments starting up again.

" _...Won't do me no good washin' in the river..."_

The music stopped.

" _...Can't no preacher man save my..."_

The music started up again.

" _...soul..."_

Another loud thud, the walls shook, the music slowly came to an awkward stop, and the same voice as before lectured, "Jesus Christ, Charlie! Stop jumping offa there."

"Oh, don't be an old nan."

He'd heard enough. She wasn't even supposed to be here. She should've been with their Aunt. And where was Polly?

He'd been off on business in London the past few days, and he'd truly been looking forward to a night all on his own. But now he had some sort of gypsy fair taking place in his own home.

The music started up again, but this time it wasn't his sister singing.

" _...Did that full moon force my hand..."_

Pausing to listen, Tommy played the guessing game with himself. Likely Ezra Harlow.

Although it wasn't much of a game — Charlie didn't have too many friends to speak of. Much like himself she'd preferred the company of horses and a handful of mates she held in highest regard. And the boy had been granted admission into the newly established Birmingham conservatory of music not too long ago — it would make sense — all this music.

" _...Miles and miles in my bare feet, still can't lay me down to sleep..."_

Turning the corner to peer into Charlotte's room through the open door, he found himself surprised at the chaos.

There were four boys — all but one he recognised — and Charlotte.

If he were any other brother, or father even, he might've been worried about his young sister galavanting around with boys — spending evenings with them him her room even.

But he'd realised early on that, unlike Ada, Charlotte's daydreams revolved around horses, and adventures, and books — never once had she been overcome with flirting of any kind.

Even when they'd come back from the war, Polly had assured him that boys had yet to become a concern for their Charlie. He'd decided that when she started wearing dresses again, and putting an effort into paying attention, then he'd have a concern. But for now, he was thankful that it was one less thing to worry about with this family.

Pulling his attention back to the chaos in the room he realised that they'd managed to very nearly destroy the entire place. The sitting chairs had been pushed into the middle of the room — both Charlotte's two seats as well as two from Ada's old room next door. What had been neatly organised shelves and shelves of books now seemed to be half shelved books and the other half scattered around in disarray.

Littered on the floor were several empty bottles of alcohol — rum, whiskey, and... Was that champagne? Boxes of crackers and biscuits also appeared amongst the litter. At least they were eating while drinking, he supposed.

On the bed — her back to him — stood his sister. Well, not so much standing as bouncing. Bouncing on the bed like a child. Still singing away.

" _...Keep walking and running and running for miles..."_

Next to her — also standing on the bed — was Ezra Harlow, singing along and playing a guitar. The two of them looked to be having the time of their lives — that was until Ezra spotted him standing in the doorway.

His face paled, and he slowly stopped playing the instrument in his hands.

Down on the floor — unfazed by the change in the room — were Isiah and the lad he didn't recognise tossing playing cards into a peaky cap across the floor. Also on the floor, laying on his back was the Parish kid — the one with the broken nose — picking away on banjo, seemingly uninterested in the lack of guitar no longer accompanying his instrument.

" _...Keep walking and running and_ –"

Charlotte — still bouncing away — finally stopped her singing to question the disturbance in the music, "Oi, what're you on about?"

The boy was speechless. He opened and closed his mouth, gaping like a fish, but no words came. Tommy couldn't help but smirk. Without saying a word, he'd managed to put the fear of God right into boy.

"I think that'd be me."

The bouncing stopped instantly.

She turned, ever so slowly, to face him, "What're you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same."

A look crossed her face — one her knew well. It was her fight or flight response. She was settling in to fight.

"We're havin' a party." Cheeky.

Stepping into the room, Tommy picked up an empty bottle from the ground and raised an eyebrow, "Oh, I can see that."

"You said you wouldn't be back 'till Sunday."

"I changed my mind."

Smirking at him, she lowered her voice in a mockery of his own, "Oh, I can see that."

"Why aren't you with Pol?"

Jumping down off the bed, she landed hard — the walls rattling — and shrugged, "Kicked me out."

"She kicked you out?" He was suspicious.

"What part of that don't you understand?"

Pointing a finger in her direction he warned, "Watch it." He waited for some sort of explanation from his sister, but when she simply rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, he pressed further, "Why did Polly kick you out?"

Charlotte sighed as she took a few steps in his direction, "Said she's got better things to do than watch over... how'd she say it... an incredibly annoying, highly capable, deviant youth on the eve of the new year." Shrugging at him she added, "Or something the like." He raised an eyebrow, urging her to continue, "So she sent me home, with firm instructions to stay put until you or she came back 'round."

Rolling his eyes, Tommy had to admit this story of Charlotte's it sounded exactly like something Polly'd do, "She sent you home — to here?"

"This is my home, is it not?"

"Charlotte..." He was tired and his patience for this conversation was wearing thin.

Grinning at him she conceded, "Right. She sent me here, said I could have the lads over — as long as we stayed put, didn't set the place on fire, or steal any of the boxes. And made me promise not to leave until you came home."

"Is that all?"

"As far as I can remember, in my present state."

Running a hand through his hair he looked to the sky for strength, "And what a state that is."

Sighing at him, she cautiously made her way closer to him — it's almost as if she suddenly realised the situation she'd found herself in, and decided to play nice for once, "It's the new year, Tommy. Have a little fun, eh? There's still a ruckus going on at the Garrison, I reckon. Why don't you go there?"

"I thought I could go to hell?"

A cocky grin spread across her face, "You can, if you'd like."

"Cheek."

"Rotten to the core, I dare say."

"A real disgrace." He couldn't help a small grin at his sister's casual disobedience. He'd have to hand it to her though — she'd followed the rules. She'd stayed home, the structure was unburnt, and as far as he could tell, not a penny was taken from the money box.

"I've heard that a lot recently."

Turning his eye back to examine the room, Tommy's smirk grew at the four lads that had been entirely discarded by his sister, trying their hardest to remain unseen.

"Isiah?" They boy's head nearly snapped right off as he jerked up to acknowledge Tommy, "Your father know you're here?"

"Yes sir, he does."

Nodding at the up-and-coming blinder, Tommy turned his attention to the rest of the boys, "And the rest of you lot?"

Three more heads nodded vigorously at him. Rolling his eyes he again scanned the room, a grenade might've gone off if he didn't know any better.

On a table to his right, near the fire Tommy noticed several cups of half drunk tea — the leaves floating around the bottoms of the cups.

Picking one up, he swirled the leaves around inside before showing Charlotte what it was he'd found, one eyebrow raised in an accusatory fashion.

"You telling fortunes?"

"No money involved." Pointing around to the lads in the room she explained, "It's only for fun, just us here."

"Shouldn't be anything." Putting the cup back on the side table he pinned her with a pointed finger, "No telling fortunes."

"What's the point of learning if I can't even have a little fun?"

"To know the difference between respectable and degenerate."

"It was only leaves." Making her way to steal the cup back from him, she drank the remainder and informed, "And 'sides, I already know the difference. You're the degenerate and I'm far more respectable."

"Far more brazen than respectable, I'd reckon." Once again looking around the room Tommy took stock of the items strewn about, "And where'd all these bottles come from, eh?"

"Courtesy of the Shelby Family Limited." Raising an eyebrow, he waited for a better explanation.

"The Garrison."

"Didn't you get locked up in here not six months ago for stealing from there?"

"Yes, but that was before Arthur ran the place."

"So Arthur gave you the bottles?" He knew it wasn't likely, but at this point he was enjoying watching her squirm.

"Not exactly."

Turning to pick up another empty bottle he moved to place it in the bin. Surprised to find it already full.

"Jesus Christ, you're all pissed."

"That's one way to put it."

"Excuse me, Mr. Shelby–"

The one he didn't recognised actually raised his hand and rose to his feet. Barely sparing the lad a glance he looked to his sister, "Who's this then?"

"He's Ephram, Harlow. Ezra's brother–"

"Visiting home on holiday." He held out his hand for shaking, which Tommy swiftly ignored, before faltering over his continued speech, "I, em– I just– I wanted to make you aware that while the others have been drinking — I have not–"

Cut off mid sentence, the brother stumbled backwards, shoved by Charlotte. She'd thrown her arms up in exasperation before rounding on him, "Don't be a duffer, Ephram." Pushing him once more back to the floor she informed, "You'll not be impressing anybody in this room with your posh attitude and fake London accent."

Turning back to face himself, Charlotte tried to wrap up this interruption, "Tommy, I'm home — just like I'm supposed to be. I didn't run off. And I didn't burn the place down. We're only having a little party, just us — Jessup, Ezra, his toff of a brother, and Isiah — nearly everyone you know."

Leaning in she lowered her voice to nearly a whisper, "Please don't be mad."

Sighing he nodded at her — she had a point; she had followed the orders as they'd been given to her. There wasn't much here to be mad about.

"Right then, it's..." checking his pocket watch he concluded, "Three in the morning. Shouldn't you boys be headed home?"

"Their parents say they're allowed here for the night. That's why Ephram's here, Mrs. Harlow said we needed a responsible chaperone."

"She know I wasn't here?"

Laughing, Charlotte answered, "No, she thought you'd be here. But I said she wanted a _responsible_ chaperone."

Running his hands over his face, Tommy grew tired. "Right, get these chairs back where they belong." Turning to his sister he pointed his finger, "If they're staying, they'll be in the other room."

She began to whine at him, "Tommy..."

"Or they can go home. Your choice."

"But it's the new year..."

"And you've all clearly had the times of your lives celebrating — courtesy of the Shelby Family Limited, Garrison branch."

"But Tommy–"

Leaning in to whisper in her ear he casually reminded his sister, "You're lucky I'm letting them stay at all."

Whispering back at him she rolled her eyes, "Christ. Fine."

Straightening up he motioned to the group, "Right then, clean this mess up and get to bed — fifteen minutes."

* * *

Slowing rising to the surface of his consciousness, Tommy struggled to open his eyes. It felt like he'd only fallen asleep minutes ago, he wasn't anywhere near ready to be awake.

Groaning, he finally opening his eyes, and quickly realised it wasn't actually time to be awake. The sun hadn't risen, and the light from the moon still beamed down across the foot of his bed.

So why the fuck was he awake now?

Reaching up he ran a hand through his hair and sighed at the ceiling.

Voices. There were voices coming from somewhere in the house. He couldn't hear what was being said but the rise and fall of one deep and one soft voice lead him to believe it would be his sister and her favourite partner in crime. The two of them, off somewhere not following his orders.

They'd do this when they were children.

If they weren't stealing a horse and running away to Wales or London, they were pinching sweets and stashing them away under mattresses or at the bottom of boxes, or sneaking out of bloody windows and having a meetup for some sort of nonsensical adventure — which was likely all too dangerous to be had in Small Heath for two seven-year-olds.

Throwing off his blankets Tommy made his way into the hall.

Charlotte's door was wide open — no truants in there.

Ada's door was closed, the rest of the lads likely asleep.

And the final door, the only room to share a wall with his own — well that door was cracked with a dim light cascading out from underneath.

Making his way towards the room in question, Tommy listened in.

"I think it's best if it's like a story." Charlotte was whispering.

"How?"

"You start with these parts here," There was the sound of the shuffling of papers, "And then here and here I'll join in."

"So it's like I'm telling the story and you're joining in?" Ezra was attempting to whisper, but ultimately failing.

"No, it's like you're telling the story but I'm saying these parts."

"That's the same thing." Tommy could hear the exhaustion in Ezra's voice.

They were both becoming exasperated with each other, evidence being Charlotte's snapped response, "Is not."

"Is so."

"Sing it again and I'll show you." Charlotte's tone was demanding, entirely unshakeable. Ezra clearly had no choice in the matter.

"You're insufferable." The boy was spot on.

"You love me."

"I tolerate you." Once again, he wasn't wrong.

"You better be careful. I'll tell my big brothers you're being mean to me."

"And they'll probably give me a medal for it." That'd be three points to Ezra, none for Charlotte.

"You're a much better guitar player than you are a comedian."

"A comedian?"

"Someone who tells jokes and thinks he's funny — like Charlie Chaplin. Now play the damn song."

These two were a headache in a bottle. Their constant chatter was seemingly never ending.

Their constant chatter — and seemingly endless supply of secrets.

The guitar started up, a slow, nearly silent strumming and Ezra began to sing.

" _Kate wasn't into moderation, that's what led to her frustration and the state of her crumbling heart."_

There was a clearing of a throat and Charlotte joined in as well.

" _Says I'm not a girl for temperance, though I know its at my hearts expense. But a downward spiral has to have a rock bottom."_

Charlotte began to speak, and Ezra's music slowly came to a stop as she spoke over him, "See, it's a story that you're telling with a second voice."

There was a long pause before Ezra voice could be heard once more, "If you're waiting for me to tell you you're right. You'll be waiting 'till the sun comes up."

"Oh, you know I'm right. I can see it in your eyes."

"You can't see shit. You're starting at the ceiling."

"What about the rest of the song?"

"Ain't you tired yet?"

"Nope."

Tommy heard a heavy sigh before the guitar started up and the two starting singing back and forth again.

" _...Know thyself, she said as she guided me round the land of the dead..."_

" _...But you ain't no sailor and I'll never be camera shy..."_

" _...My heart wants to go one way, my heart don't agree..."_

Peering into the room, Tommy could see his sister and Ezra laying on the ground, flat on their backs. Instead of laying side by side, they laid with the tops of their heads nearly touching, feet on opposite ends.

Both had their eyes closed, Ezra with a guitar resting on his belly, as he strummed and hummed along with Charlotte.

" _...Oh will I praise again? Oh will I praise again?..."_

They'll looked rather sweet and innocent, like the little children of his memories. He almost didn't want to end this time of theirs, but he really needed to sleep.

"I thought I told you all to go to bed — in separate rooms."

His sister's eyes flew open and a half grin appeared on her face, "You told us to go to sleep in separate rooms. And as you can see, we're very clearly not asleep."

Sitting up and setting the guitar aside, Ezra began to explain before he was silenced by Charlotte, "I'm sorry, Tommy. We didn't want to break any rules–"

"Shut it, Ezra. He ain't gonna cut ya for lying on the floor in the spare room."

Glaring at his sister, Tommy threatened, "I might."

Cleary exasperated with his sister as well, Ezra pointed towards Tommy repeating the threat, "He might."

Waving him off, Charlotte refused to move from her spot on the floor, "I won't let him."

"You're still drunk." Tommy's statement was both an accusation and an acknowledgement of the obvious.

While Charlotte's was simply an accusation, "You're lurking in the shadows like some old busybody."

"Maybe."

"Watcha spying for?"

"It's not spying if it me own house."

"Yes it is." Her voice filled with attitude with every word that came outta her mouth.

"I'm not having this argument. Why are you two still up?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"So you decided to play instruments and sing to each other?"

"It's relaxing."

"Singing?"

"Helps with the nightmares."

"You having bad dreams? About the copper?" This was news to him.

"What's it to you?"

"Nothing. Just seems like an awful lot of song singing. How often you been having the dreams?"

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"Right. Then, off to bed."

"Come on." Motioning for both of them to rise from the floor, Tommy gestured to the spare bed across the room, "Ezra, there's no fire. But you can stay here for the night if you'd like — provided Charlotte stays in her own room."

"When you become so concerned with all the rules?"

"I've always been concerned with rules, it's only you who's not had any concern to follow them."

"Yeah, now that you mention it, that seems accurate."

Sighing at her cheek, Tommy took hold of her arm guiding her down the hall, "I'll put you to bed meself."

"Do I get a kiss on the head and a bedtime story?"

"Bloody hell, Charlotte, how much have you had to drink?" She wasn't tripping over herself or slurring her words, but she was very clearly far braver than she would've been without the drink.

"Come now, Thomas. Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to."

Walking her to the bed her pointed as he instructed, "Get in, and stay there."

"Aw, nuts."

Rolling his eyes at her antics, he waited for her to get under the blankets before leaning in to kiss her forehead, "Here's your kiss."

Sitting up on her elbows she begged, "And a story?"

"Bedtime stories are reserved for people who'll remember them in the morning."

"Do you miss her?"

Shaking his head Tommy nearly laughed at the sudden change in the subject. Staring over at him as she lay half propped up in bed, she really did look like a little girl. Maybe that's why he entertained the question when he knew he should've just turned and gone to bed himself.

"Who?"

"Grace."

And just like that he felt a brick fall into the pit of his stomach.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because I think you do."

"And why's that?"

"Because you've been different since she left. Not good or bad different. But different like before."

"Before when?"

"The war."

Scoffing he attempted to firmly instruct her to sleep, "Charlie, go to bed–"

"No. It's true. When Grace was here you looked like yourself."

"I always look like meself."

"No, that's not true. With Grace you looked happy like regular Tommy. The you I remember from the pictures on my shelf. The old you."

"Charlie, I am the old me. People change. You ain't the same little girl from six years ago either."

They'd had a similar conversation the day after he'd returned home from France.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Ada and Polly were nowhere to be found. It was just himself and Charlotte.

When he'd woken and made his way down the stairs, he'd been set on making himself a cup of tea.

He had, however, been surprised to find his twelve-year-old sister already up and sipping her own cup. Sitting cross legged on the chair, with a blanket pulled over her shoulders she looked comfortable on her own in the silence.

Unsure of what to say to the scrawny girl before him, he simply stated, "You're up early."

Jumping at his voice, she clearly hadn't heard him make his way down the stairs. Turning to face him, she started, wide eyed, taking in his features. As she jumped, her blanket slipped off one shoulder to reveal she'd already gotten herself fully dressed, no night clothes to be seen. Strange girl, this one.

She looked tired. She looked nearly as exhausted as he felt. Maybe this homecoming wasn't sitting as well with her as any of them had hoped for.

The were, as Polly put it, upending the girl's life right in the middle of her formative years — whatever the hell that meant. So they must be careful and cautions with her. Even Polly couldn't predict how she would respond to all the changes that came with them returning home safely.

Staring back at her, Tommy waited for her to respond, but when no words were forthcoming, he shrugged and made his way to the kettle.

From behind him, he could feel her wide eyed gaze burning a hole in his back. He tried to ignore the unnerving feeling, Polly wasn't wrong — he was a new feature in her life after all, it would take some time for them to get use to one another again.

Pouring the tea into a cup, he quickly realised that it had gone cold; she must've been awake for some time now. "Kettle's gone cold."

Turning to face her, Tommy paused to see if she'd comment. Once again, no words left her mouth. Just an increasingly deep and curious gaze.

This look of her's, he'd seen it before — in the face of his mother — their mother.

The woman had loved riddles and puzzles, solving problems had been her area of expertise. Whether is was how to get her boys out of bed and off to school in time, figuring out the proper calculations to make the perfect pie, or where the hell she might find her husband after he'd gone on a bender for days on end, the woman had been a detective at heart.

She'd sit at the very same table, pondering over her latest troubles, the exact same look etched onto her face.

It was eerie, how similar his baby sister looked like their mother at this moment.

Almost as eerie as how Tommy knew exactly what she was thinking. She was trying to puzzle him out. Piecing together the person before her, with the memories of the figure from her past. He knew, because he'd done the same to her only just the night before.

She'd been so small when he'd left. Small, loud, opinionated, strong-willed, and a troublemaker to boot. And now he couldn't quite make the connection from that plague of a child, to this silent unnerving girl.

Muttering to himself about the strangeness of girls, Tommy decided there really was nothing more to be said on the matter and moved to top off the kettle himself before stoking the coals, and cutting himself a slice of bread.

Taking a seat at the table, Tommy looked to Charlotte and raised an eyebrow. Still nothing but stares from the girl.

Thinking back over the past twenty-four hours Tommy realised that Charlotte had stayed in the background of their reunions, lurking in the shadows away from the attention. She hadn't even welcomed them home at the train station until Polly had pushed her forward into Arthur's arms. Maybe she was far more shy than he remembered.

Looking down at the plate of bread sitting on the table, Tommy tried not to grow weary at her constant eerie gaze. He'd never had someone stare so intently for so long. It was starting to grate.

Taking his time in finishing his bread, Tommy hoped that she only needed a few more minutes and the novelty of his presence at the table would pass. When he had no such luck, he finally met her gaze, forcing a cool glare on her. She was still so little. She'd been smaller when he'd left, sure. But he'd expected something more. Maybe it was just her, sitting here far too early for her to be awake, in her hand-me-down trousers and buttoned shirt, knees pulled up to her chest, that made him think of her as she'd been before.

Which, now that he thought of it, was altogether unfair. He wasn't the same person he'd been before — nowhere near, actually. So why'd he expected her to be the same? She'd grown from a child into something more, and he needed to put his expectations aside. Everything was different now, in so many more ways than he'd been prepared for.

However, her unnerving glares, those needed to stop this instant. He'd been patient, but enough was enough, "You don't speak anymore, is that it?"

Sighing at him as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders, she shook her head, "You're different." Pausing, she cocked her head and narrowed her eyes at him, as if to solidify this opinion of hers in her own mind. "You seem more full."

He didn't respond — not that he knew what he should say to her comment anyway. It was a strange comment — which was seemingly fitting.

Just when he thought he'd have to prod her for an explanation she continued, "Than when you left."

He still couldn't respond. What did she think he was full of? If she'd guessed frustration, she'd be right. But be doubted that's what she was meaning.

Leaning in as if to get a better look at him, she seemed to finalise her opinion to herself, "You're full and different."

"I could say the same about you." She was indeed different; altogether strange really.

Shaking her head, she gave him a face that insinuated she thought him daft, "I think not."

Sipping at his tea he commented on the only thing that seemed to be consistent with her, "Still fond of arguing I see."

"Aunt Polly says it's in the blood. Although I didn't argue with her on the point. So I'm not sure if that proves her correct or not."

"Pretty sure it doesn't matter what's the point, Polly's always right." If she hadn't learnt this by now, she was bound to learn it sooner rather than later. Nodding at him, she brought her fingers up to her mouth and began to chew on her nails. Narrowing her gaze her seemed to be searching him for something, "Whadda staring at me like that for?"

"Looking." Her gaze didn't falter and her fingers barely left her mouth to answer.

"For what?"

"The real you."

She was mad, this one. "This is the real me."

"I think not."

Glaring at his sister from across the table, Tommy could feel he was about to lose his patience with her. Closing his eyes he worked to stamp his temper down. He wasn't home 24 hours yet, it'll do nobody any good for him to be ranting and raving at the silly — yet entirely irritating — musings of a thirteen-year-old; or was it twelve? He'd been gone for quite a long time. Breathing out a sigh, Tommy stood from his place at the table, fishing out a cigarette from the bowl on the mantle where Polly always kept a few sticks handy.

Lighting up and taking a deep breath, Tommy tried to ignore the continuing stares from Charlotte. Relaxing as he felt the cigarette start its magic, he spoke up once more, "Right. Tell me then, if I'm not the real me, then who am I?"

Shrugging, Charlotte took her time responding, "You sorta look like our Thomas, but different."

He was his turn to shrug at her, "People change."

Biting her bottom lip she nodded at him, clearly processing the information as if she were some wise woman preparing to give him his fortune, "Polly says war makes men change. Says that it makes them right hard bastards."

"Is that so?" She nodded earnestly. "Polly tell you those things?" Didn't seem like something Polly'd tell a child. Seems like something Polly would say though.

Quickly looking to her tea — finding the leaves in her tea suddenly far more interesting than himself, she fidgeted with her cup, "She said 'em."

It was entirely too suspicious how quickly she found her bloody cup far more interesting than finding the 'real Tommy' in him. Cocking an eyebrow he pressed, "But not to you?"

"No."

"You been spying?" Now this was the Charlotte that he remembered — sneaking around the shop, pinching pencils and the occasional bob. Ducking down just below windows and doors to listen in on conversations. Her spying had gotten her a walloping more than once, if he recalled correctly.

"Polly says–"

That was it, he couldn't take this anymore. Pointing a finger in her direction he took a step forward and successfully silenced her parroting of Polly and excesus for her silly antics, "Enough of what Polly says. I'm back. I'm here. I'm your Thomas. This is me, you hear?"

"But Polly–"

"Christ, give it a break would ya?" Stubbing out the last of his cigarette, he moved to refill his cup of tea.

"You're meaner than you used to be."

Turning and taking his seat once gain he explained, "I've a new outlook on life."

Crossing her arms at him, she glowered, "What's that got to do with anything."

"It's got everything to do with anything. Things are gonna be different now that we're all are back–"

Interrupting him, she jumped into a brand new line of questioning, "Does that mean Polly's not in charge anymore?"

"That's not what it means."

"Does that mean the rules are different?"

"Not likely."

"Well, what does it mean?" He could tell that she was getting to be about as frustrated with him as he was with her.

"It means we'll figure it out together, eh?" Eyeing him suspiciously, Charlotte silently held his gaze. "It means things are gonna be hard at first. We've got to learn how to be a family again. But we'll all get through it."

Leaning back in her chair she thought over his words. It was clear she was suspicious — either of him or his words, he wasn't sure. "Even though you're different?"

"Even though we're both different."

Pinching her lips, she slowly shook her head, "I don't like it."

Shrugging at her, he replied, "You don't hafta like it — doesn't change anything though."

"What if it doesn't work? All of us back together?"

"We're a family. We'll be grand, trust me."

"Why should I?"

"Trust me?" Wordlessly she nodded at him, big eyes gazing into his soul.

Well, shit. It was a fair question, he just hadn't expected something so serious. In France, his men trusted him because he'd risked his life for them. He trusted them in return because they'd all done the same for him.

But why should this strange little girl trust him? Because they were family, perhaps. Because if it came down to it, he'd risk his life for her as well. But how was she to know that?

Jesus.

This would be far more difficult than he'd expected. Reintegrating into civilian life was bound to be hard, doing it with a teenager in the house was sure to make things twice as difficult.

Rising from his chair, leaving his tea behind, he moved to light another cigarette.

Honestly, he wasn't sure why she should trust him — only that she should. She had at one point, so why had things changed? "Did you trust me before — the war?"

Nodding at him she slowly responded, not entirely certain of her words, "I think so."

"You don't remember?"

"It's been a long time."

It had been a long time, seemed an eternity, nearly, "You were littler then."

"You were bigger then."

"I 'suppose to you I was." Adults always seemed bigger when you were a kid. He could remember thinking that their Father was as big as a horse, and that their Uncle Charlie wasn't much smaller either — especially when the two would get into some sort of brawling argument.

Rising from her chair to refill her cup, Charlotte took her time with her next question, "Do you remember me from before?"

That was strange, "Of course, why wouldn't I?"

"It's been a long time."

He suddenly thought he knew where all her suspicion and nervous starring was coming from, "Do you remember me?"

"Yes." She was pretending at confidence.

Pausing she looked around the room — anywhere but at him — before clearing her throat and awkwardly adding, "Mostly."

It took her less than three seconds to mumble out her next confession, "Sorta." She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose — a trait she'd clearly picked up from their aunt. It seemed the weight of the happiness of the family might be resting on her shoulders, "I don't remember everything. Sometimes it's like a photograph in my mind. Uncle Charlie says it's normal, that that's how memories should be. But it's not."

"Seems normal to me."

"No, normal memories are like the moving pictures, you can see what happened and remember the words and how people moved, or laughed, or cried."

Closing her eyes she continued on in her explanation, "Yesterday's memory is like that. If I close me eyes I can see you lot stepping out of the steam from the train. I can hear Polly's cries — she tried to be brave — but she was too happy. I can even smell Ada's perfume; it's pretty."

Opening her eyes, Tommy could see she was holding back tears — over what exactly, he wasn't sure. "But with before, sometimes I don't know if it's even me own picture, or if it's Polly's picture that she's placed on the shelf in me head."

"I don't know what that means."

"Like our mother. I don't remember her on me own. Everything about her is only stories from other people. So if I think I remember a thing about her — like how her favourite colour was green — I know it's because Ada told me so. Not because I really remember it."

Nodding slowly, he inhaled his cigarette as he spelled it out, "So with me and Arthur and John, you think you only remember us from stories? Not your own memories."

"Yeah. It's like you weren't ever real. Like I made you up from a story book."

"So, because you don't remember, you don't trust me?"

"Why should I trust someone I don't remember? That'd be daft, eh?" Another fair and reasonable question from his sister. "It's like trusting someone you don't know at all or maybe never met before, who just happened to have stepped off the train only yesterday but lives in the same place as you."

"Yeah. That makes sense." He wasn't lying either. It did make sense, her reasoning. What didn't make sense were his expectations. He'd expected certain aspects of this old life to return to normal — as of his memories were also photographs. He'd return and everything would be the same. It was stupid of him, really.

Sighing aloud, he continued the steady inhale and exhale of his cigarette, and before too long both he and Charlotte had settled into a comfortable silence. Charlotte wasn't staring any more, which took off some of the edge Tommy was feeling, and they both sat and enjoyed their cooling tea.

In fact, they'd been sitting so long in the silence that Tommy nearly startled when Charlotte's voice once again filled the room, "Tell me something to make me trust you."

"Like what, eh?"

She shrugged, "Dunno."

"You shouldn't make demands if you ain't got any idea what it is you really want."

Raising her eyebrows she rolled her eyes at him as if he might just be the stupidest person she'd ever met, "I want something that says I should trust you."

Pausing to think, he looked around the room initially uncertain of what he could share — or rather what he should share to keep himself in her good graces.

Finally settling on the most obvious thing he could think of, he explained, "How's this — I know you were out all night, and I'll keep it to meself — nobody needs to know. Even Polly."

Her eyes went wide and she began to stammer, "I wasn't–"

Interrupting before she could get any farther she calmly explained, "Shouldn't you say something to make me trust you as well?" Pointing back and forth between them, he continued, "We should be on even footing. So, how about the truth, eh?"

"Right." Bringing her fingers up to her mouth she began to chew, clearly working hard to evaluate this situation that they were now in.

"Where were you all night?"

"Em, with Uncle Charlie and Curly."

"If I ask either of them if you were there, they'd say you were?"

"Curly probably won't — he likes our secrets. But Uncle Charlie will, yeah."

"Right, well–"

Interrupting she questioned, "How'd you know I was out?"

Leaning back in his chair, he considered keeping his secrets of deduction, but ultimately figured they were working on trust here. It'd do neither of them any good to be keeping secrets or telling lies. "There's a jacket on the floor there," pointing to the back door, he continued, "Looks like it slipped off the door handle and it's still wet from the rain."

"Your hair — it's not exactly dry either." Bringing her hand up she felt her hair, clearly having been entirely unaware of its dampness. Sighing at its moisture, she waved him on.

"And you smell like a soggy field."

Sighing at him, she seemed to think over what he'd just said before confirming his confidence, "And you won't tell Pol?"

"Said I wouldn't, didn't I?"

"Yeah."

"Then I won't.

"So Polly's still in charge then?" She didn't seem suspicious of the lack of change in the hierarchy, only mildly concerned.

"For now."

"What's that mean?" The fuck did she want from him? A bloody schedule? An exact timeline for when Polly's authority would be diminished? He'd been home barely a day, everyone needed time. "It means I ain't gonna tell her about tonight's adventure."

"Swear it."

"I swear it — I won't say a fucking thing."

"No, not like that, like this." Leaning forward she rested her elbow on the table and stuck out her smallest finger like she was drinking tea.

"What's that?"

"It's a pinky swear."

Reaching out, Charlotte took hold of his other hand, grasping his finger and pulled it towards her protruding digit.

"You've got to swear it like this." Wrapping his pinky around her own, she held onto his finger with a surprisingly firm grip of her own little finger, and explained further, "And if you break the swear then I get to chop off your pinky."

"Do not." He was teasing, but he wasn't sure if she could tell.

"I do. That's how it works." She was as serious as a soldier in a snow storm.

"Then I don't wanna do it."

"Too late. You already shook on it."

"You tricked me."

"Maybe."

"That's not very trustworthy."

Shrugging at him, she clearly had something else on her mind, "How'd you know all of that? About me being out. Were you a spy in France?"

Christ. He'd rather go back to the silent staring, "No. I wasn't a spy."

"Isn't that what spies are supposed to say?"

The simplicity behind her logic made he grin, "I suppose. But I wouldn't know. Because I'm not a spy."

"Then what did you do?" Bloody hell. This isn't what he wished to be discussing at the moment — or ever really.

"Dug tunnels."

"Under the ground?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because that's what I was told to do."

"But, why?"

He wasn't going to have this conversation right now — or ever for that matter. He wasn't going to sit here and explain the intricacies of war, and why rich men sat in their high castles and ordered poor men to go underground to a child — wiser than her age, so she may be.

Ignoring her weighted question he pressed on with one of his own, intent on changing the subject, "Why were you sneaking out in the middle of the night to help Uncle Charlie?"

Bringing her fingers up to chew on them once again, Charlotte clearly realised she wasn't going to be getting any further answers outta him. So instead, she made the wise decision to go along with his change of subject, "Just talking's all."

"What about?"

"About all of you coming home. Feels like all of Birmingham has gone topsy-turvy."

Nodding in agreement, he added, "Not just Birmingham, the whole of England."

"You feel it too, then?"

Pausing to consider his response, Tommy thought of the tunnels and then of his home here on Watery Lane.

"I feel it. Just not the same as you'd think."

"How's that?"

"Well it's like the bit about your mind pictures, eh?"

Clearly puzzled at his statement, Tommy watched as her eyebrows pinched together and she tilted her head slightly to the side, "You don't remember England from before?"

"No. That's not exactly it, I do remember, but..." Taking a deep breath Tommy searched for the words to explain himself.

"You know the picture you stole from my side table? The one of our mother with all us kids? You're not quite a year old."

Immediately she grew defensive, shrinking down in her chair, "Not stolen. Only borrowed while you was gone."

"I expect it back where it belongs by tomorrow morning, then." Giving her a glare he made his message clear before continuing on, "But that's not the point."

"I know what the photograph looks like, I can see it in my mind, clear as day. Arthur and I standing in the back, you in her arms, John on the left side, Ada on the right leaning backwards into my legs. It had been hot as hell that day too. All of us in our fanciest clothes, sweating to high heaven, but not one of us complaining because of how happy she was."

"But if today, the lot of us were to recreate that photograph, we wouldn't be able to — not only because she's not here. But because you're not a baby anymore and John's now got a few inches on Arthur. The weather won't be the same, and the clothes will all be different." Looking across to his sister, Charlotte was dutifully keeping her questions to herself, clearly fearful that if she were to interrupt again, he'd not continue with his story. But she was nearly writhing in anxiety over the energy it was taking to keep her mouth shut. She wasn't understanding him, and unless he wanted to be bombarded with a never ending flow of questions from her, he needed to make himself more clear.

"It's as if all of England is trying to recreate a memory from a photograph that's been lost in the sea. We all remember what the picture was, but we don't know how to make it a picture once again. The places are the same. Most of the people are the same. But, everything is most certainly not the same."

Nodding at him she brought her finger back to her mouth for chewing, keeping her mouth blissfully shut.

"It's as though I know I'm supposed to be here. This is my home, I know it to be true. But I look at myself, and I don't think that I belong in this place anymore. But I've no place else to go."

Sitting in the silence, Tommy had no more words. He hadn't realised he'd felt this way until just now. It had taken him saying the words aloud for him to fully understand the knowledge in the back of his head.

This time, it was his turn to look away. He didn't need her locking those big green eyes of hers on his and staring into his soul.

Was he embarrassed? Ashamed? He sure as fuck knew he was uncomfortable. Uncomfortable in his own bloody home with his own bloody family.

What was he to say now? Now that he'd just admitted the dark secret he didn't even know he was keeping.

Tommy's mind — already beginning to spiral into a pit of despair — was thankfully brought back to the surface as Charlotte slowly began to explain her own thoughts, "I don't think Polly would like it if you went any place else."

Looking to his sister he was surprised to find her gaze less examining.

"Ada either. Both of them have been nearly bursting with excitement these past few weeks since we got Arthur's letter. Polly's been working us like horses cleaning up every nook and cranny in the house and the shop — making sure the place was cleaner than you'd left it."

She has his attention now, and he was grateful for the life preserver she'd thrown his way. But now, he could help but ask, "And what about you? How'd you feel if I up and left again?"

Silence. That concerned him — which was surprising. He hadn't expected her to be so... Well, he didn't know what he'd expected from her if he were being honest. She'd only been a child when they'd left — eight years old was all. The years had been plenty of time for her to forget him, or to move on from her expectations of him.

She sighed heavily — as if she knew she held his fate in the palm of her hands — and exhaled ever so slowly. He would have thought she was having him on, if her face wasn't so very serious. "No. I don't think I'd like that much at all."

"You certain?"

"Depends..." Her statement lingered in the air, waiting for him to ask his obvious retort to her uncertainty, "On what?"

Then, quick as a rabbit in a trap she asked, "Can I have a dog?"

Her question was so serious, so conniving, so genuine he couldn't hold in the barking laugh that bubbles up in his chest.

"Can you have dog? He was amazing at the unabashed cunning of her question. Maybe she was the little weasel that he remembered from all those years ago.

"Yeah."

"No."

Smiling, she leaned in, desperate to convince him, "But it'd be nice."

"Not likely."

"Please?"

Shaking his head at her, he grinned, entirely entertained at the sudden change in the conversation, "Why'd you want a dog for anyhow?"

"Thea Lee has one–"

"Hold on," What sort of nonsense was Polly allowing to happen here? Letting his sister run with the Lee girls — that's far too lenient, especially for Polly. "When were you with the Lee's?"

"At the end of summer. I went with Johnny to trade a horse for Uncle Charlie."

"Johnny Dogs?" Maybe this wasn't as bad as he'd initially thought.

"Yeah, he's with the Lee's now." Breathing out a sigh of relief, Tommy hadn't even realised that he'd been holding his breath. If she'd been with Johnny, there was nothing for him to be concerned about. Well, not _nothing_ to be concerned about — both Charlotte and Johnny had a wild streak running through them that could make the gods cower in fear, but as long as she wasn't going crazy with the Lee girls, she was safe with Johnny being 'round. "So now you want a dog because you saw the Lee girls got one?"

"They got three — big Irish wolfhounds all of 'em. I only want one."

"That whole clan's a bunch of dogs, Charlie. Doesn't make 'em fit for Small Heath — there's a reason they're always camped out beyond any city."

Sighing at him she pressed further, "What aboutta small one? Please? It'll be grand."

"No." Shaking his head he rose from his chair, intent on this third cigarette of the morning.

"But Polly said–"

Oh with this again, "Polly said you could have a dog, eh?" Breathing in, he slowly released the smoke from his lungs as Charlotte worked to convince him on the matter, "She said maybe."

Not likely. "Really?"

There she went again, chewing on her fingers and staining down at the table.

"So when she comes walking through those doors, and I ask her about her position on you gettin' a dog like the Lee girls, she's gonna tell me that she told you, 'maybe.' Is that the way of it?"

Mumbling into the table she kept her eyes averted from his own, "I don't want one that's the same as the Lee's — I only want a small one."

"Oh, so she told you 'maybe' to a small one then?"

Crossing her arms, Charlotte clearly wasn't happy that she wasn't about to get her own way. Leaning forward, Tommy tapped her under her chin, until she raised her eyes to meet his own, "You confess to me, either Polly told you 'maybe,' or you're lying to me. Which is it?"

"Neither."

"Neither?"

"Technically she said, 'Maybe we can have a dog when my brothers come home from the war, the cut freezes over, and the three of you find yourselves ice skating in figures for all the Birmingham to watch.' That's what Polly told me."

Rolling his eyes at her, he hoped to conclude this conversation, "Right. Then I think we both know, that's still a no."

"Are you sure?"

She was pushing her luck, "Yes."

Sighing at the memory of her shameless behaviour, Tommy couldn't help but think she was pushing her luck once again.

"No." He was firm in his denial.

His sister was clearly suspicious, "No?"

"No, Charlotte, I do not miss Grace. Now go to sleep."

"I think you're lying." Well, the luck-pusher wasn't wrong.

"I don't miss her."

"Liar." Cheeky little shit.

"Maybe I miss what might've been. But she's gone now and we've got work to do."

Satisfied at his confession she finally leaned back, resting her head on her pillow, "Don't tell Polly, but I think I miss her too."

"You barely knew her."

"Maybe. But she made you better, and I miss that."


	17. Chapter 17

A Mind to Tear a Soul in Two: Chapter Sixteen

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A/N: Sorry for the delay everyone! I'm back and ready to write some more. The updates will still be slow, but hopefully they won't be months a part.

* * *

Oh, Christ.

Jesus Christ.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Jesus — dying on a fucking cross — Christ.

Jesus — son of Mary, dying on the fucking cross — Christ.

Jesus — son of Mary, dying on the fucking cross to save us from our sins — Christ.

Christ, what in the bloody hell had she been thinking?

She hadn't been — that's what Tommy'll say. He'll pace back and forth, shaking his head and smoking his stick and he'll say, "If you'd just stopped to think for one bloody second we wouldn't be in this mess, would we Charlotte?"

She'd look away, refusing to answer. And then he'd get angry. He'd reach forward, taking hold of her shoulders, tightening his grip until she was wincing under the pressure. Then making sure she was looking at him, his voice would grow cold and he'd repeat the question, "Would we?"

And then she'd have to say, "No, Tommy." Like a mumping cow.

And if she didn't say it loud enough he'd make her repeat herself and the whole fucking situation would be too much for her to take.

And she'd been doing so well too.

These past six months had been grand. She'd finished the school year with acceptable marks — nothing spectacular, but they'd been passing. She'd been working well with Curly at the yard. And since the summer holiday had begun, Tommy had been giving her ledgers to look over — and when he wasn't looking John would sneak her the books for the shipments coming and going out of the yard late at night — shipments that she wasn't supposed to know of.

She wasn't exactly sure if Tommy was aware that she was working on these undisclosed ledgers, but otherwise he'd been perfectly happy with her performance in the shop.

And now... And now herself was about to be crucified.

Jesus Christ, seated at the right hand of god, please take her now.

It really was no use asking for help from the son of god himself — after all it was her people who'd made the nails used to crucify him — and for that they'd not receive help from the holy ones in any circumstance.

She wasn't likely to survive the next few days anyhow.

Tommy was going to kill her.

He was going to lecture her until she was begging for it, and then he'd kill her.

That'd be only if Polly didn't get her hands on her first.

How many times had Polly warned her about keeping her nose clean and record clear? More times than Charlotte could possibly remember.

"Never spit in front of the copper, always when his back is turned."

"Always say 'yesir', then call him a squealing pig once he's gone."

"Keep your head down till he's passed, then you walk proud like a true Shelby."

Growing up, Polly had been terrified that if Charlotte were to have even the slightest run in with the law, she'd be taken away and given to the church, just like her own children.

"Be like your brothers in any way you wish, but you stay away from that jail or you'll wish the devil to take you when I get my hands on your skinny ass."

And Charlotte listened to her aunt — for the most part. There'd been one instance — she'd been ten or so — when a fight had broken out in the street.

Now, Charlotte getting herself involved in a fight wasn't anything unusual, nor was the sight of any sort of fight taking place on the streets of Small Heath.

But what had been unusual was the copper that had been right across the street from where the fight had broken out, loitering inside Mrs Lovett's bakery.

The copper'd come barreling out of the bakery and by the time all the other children had scattered, he was there in a flash, with her collar on one hand and Liam Olsen's in his other.

She'd never felt so certain that she could read another person's mind as she had in that moment with Liam.

Their scrap had been entirely forgotten, their only concern from that moment on was escaping the grip of that fucking copper.

They'd stared each other in the eye as the copper began to lecture on above their heads, completely unaware that they were paying him no mind. They hadn't needed to even count aloud, but when Charlotte had reached 'three' in her mind, so had Liam, and at the same time they stomped down on that bloody copper's feet as hard as their ten-year-old little legs could allow.

That pig had squealed and howled at them as they ran, curses and threats echoing off the buildings as they made their escape.

As they darted in and out of back alleys and side streets, they didn't stop until they were certain they couldn't take another step without collapsing and dying from lack of oxygen right there in the street.

Once their breath had caught back up to them, they'd spit in their hands and shaken on the promise to never tell a soul about what they'd just done — lest Satan himself take their spirit and Scotland Yard send them to a work house to live out the rest of their days paying for their misdeeds against the crown.

The next day at school some of the kids that had escaped when the copper fist made his appearance had asked her how she'd managed to escape. She'd diligently refuted any claim that she'd been caught in the first place.

"What sorta Shelby gets caught by a copper, eh?" They hadn't believed her at first, but she and Liam had both stuck to their story, "When you hear the shouts and whistles and bells of the bulls, you run. Everybody knows that." Liam had her back as long as she had his.

Putting on her most threatening glare and pulling one of her brother's old razor caps from her pocket, she finally silenced the gossip and rumours, "And if a single one of youse are suggesting that I'm not smart enough to run when the bulls comes out shouting, then I'll cut ya so bad your mother will hate the sight of yours ugly face."

They'd stopped asking questions after that, and since then she'd been saved from getting pinched by any copper for fighting or stealing or loitering, because she'd been smart. She followed the rules. And if she didn't follow the rules she ran. She ran away from the coppers like every other person with brains in Small Heath.

But this time... this time she didn't run away. This time, she just had to run at them. She ran right towards the trouble without a second thought to it.

She couldn't help it, she wasn't thinking. It was pure instinct.

She and Ezra had been enjoying the lazy afternoon, slowly making their way from Watery Lane to the yard, where they fully intended on purloining two horses for the remainder of the day — and well into the evening for that matter — when things simply spiralled out of control.

They'd been nearly the whole way to the yard when they'd heard screams and shouts coming from the next alley over. Not one to mind her own business, Charlotte had rushed around the corner just in time to see some dirty stinkin' lowdown rat in a nice blue uniform take his fucking backhand to a woman holdin' a baby in her hands.

She was hollering about her home, all while another copper just stood and watched as another burly looking man was heaving items out of the flat onto the street.

It didn't take long to get the full story — that some skeezer of a landlord had taken it upon himself to have the woman — a widow from the sound of her shouts — and her children thrown out by the city's friendliest in blue because of some issue with the rent.

Charlotte couldn't make out if the rent was being raised, or the woman just couldn't pay it this month — whatever it was Charlotte hadn't a mind to give the reasoning a single fuck before she was making her way towards the scene.

Ezra, knowing exactly what she'd set her mind to, quickly followed after insisting she leave the situation alone, "Charlie, not today. You don't want to get involved in this today."

Sighing, she knew he was right. And she was going to leave with him — she was, truly. But the sound of another slap and the scream of the woman followed by the absolute hair raising wail from a baby had Charlotte disregarding the wise advice that had been offered. And instead found herself shaking off Ezra's grip as she ran directly towards the sobbing woman and the good-for-nothing copper.

Her mind told her to stop, but it seemed her feet had thoughts of their own.

Before she knew what she was doing, she was running towards the copper, gun holstered beneath her coat, knife safe in her boot, and fists ready at her sides to throw the first punch.

And with every angry step she took, her mind floated away from the current situation to one all too similar from way back before the war.

She couldn't remember how old she'd been when it had happened. She knew Ezra hadn't been part of her life yet, but she wasn't quite sure if her father had still been lingering around, barely attempting to fulfil his role as single parent to his children.

But she had remembered the crying and shouts that had come from down the lane. She'd been alone in the sitting room when the ruckus had started. She knew she shouldn't go outside without Ada or one of the boys or Polly, but she couldn't stop her own curiosity.

Ever so slowly she pulled the front door open, making sure to ease it through the spots where she knew there'd be boisterous creaking.

Once the door was wide open and the sound came clearer she stepped out onto the stoop. She didn't think it was really breaking the rules if she was technically still touching part of the Shelby property.

So she planted her left foot firmly on the step, and hopped out on one leg as far as she could, arms spread wide to keep her balance as she leaned farther into the lane to see what in high heaven was going on down the bloody lane.

The sound of a slap echoed off the buildings and it was as if everyone on Watery Lane had gasped all at once, leaving no sound or oxygen left for anyone else in town.

A few silent seconds passed before one voice called out for everyone to hear, "No! Mama, get up. Please!"

She knew the high pitched shrieking voice anywhere. That was bound to be Alice Martin — her only friend on the lane. Well, the only friend she had, period. Alice liked to pretend to be a bit posh, which didn't suit Charlotte one bit. But they were all each other had. Every other kid on the lane was a baby, acted like a baby, or was already a junior peaky. Not people Charlotte had any interest in associating with at this point in her life.

Deciding that she should make her way down the lane to see if Alice needed her help, Charlotte was surprised to find she was already halfway there.

She hadn't realised she'd left the stoop of number five, leaving the door wide open. But here she was — it was too late to turn back now. And besides, her friend needed her help! Rules be damned.

As she grew closer to the gathering crowd she finally noticed the cacophony of sounds were most just wails from Alice, her mother, and her baby brother. All three crying in a not entirely unpleasant harmony.

She was about to break into the back of the crowd when she felt strong arms latch onto her shoulders. Spinning around, she looked up into the face of an irritated Arthur, "What do you think you're doing out here, eh?"

"Arthur, leggo! It's me mate, Alice." Trying to wiggle free Arthur drew in a heavy breath before bending down to her level. "Isn't there a rule about leaving the flat?"

"Yes."

"And what is it?"

"No going outside without one of you buggers."

Grinning at her smartass reply, Arthur reached to grip her hand, and began pushing through the crowd, "Oi! Go home! Everyone! There's nothing that's any business of youse here."

Filling her chest full with pride over her brother's authority over the crowd, she couldn't help herself as she added, "Yeah! Git, all you!"

"You heard the lady! Get going!"

As the crowd dispersed, Arthur let loose her arm and with a very serious glare told her, "You stay right here, and don't move." She nodded her head fiercely as he continued, "And if I tell you to run, you run home as fast as you possibly can. Understand?"

Nodding once harshly she confirmed, "Understand."

Grinning at her still, Arthur reached up to tap her on the nose, "Understood."

"Huh?"

"That's what you're suppose to say when someone asks you if you understand. You say 'Understood', understand?"

Once again nodding harshly she agreed, "Understood."

"Good girl."

Then turning to face the huddled and scared little family, Arthur's booming voice rose above their crying, "Now what's all this here?"

There wasn't more than two seconds between the time that Arthur asked his question, and Mr Martin spit out his accusation, "That ain't my baby!"

And with the accusation out in the open, Mrs Martin was back to wailing and attempting to speak — even though every syllable that came outta her mouth was absolute gibberish.

Shaking his head, Charlotte watched Arthur walk to the angry man and wailing woman, but even as she strained her ears to hear what was being said, the wailing drowned most things out and she ended up standing there feeling as dumb as a doorknob.

Before too long, Arthur had taken Alice by the arm and pushed her in Charlotte's direction.

Alice finally noticing Charlotte's presence rushed over to her friend as Charlotte gave a small little wave of encouragement. As Alice saddled up next to her, the girl whispered, "I didn't see you. Did you bring your brother to help?"

Shrugging, Charlotte reached down to take her friend's shaking hand, "Something like that."

Standing hand in hand, both girls watched on as Arthur calmed down both Alice's parents. When they were both done yellin' and howlin' Arthur ushered the woman and child into the flat, firmly instructed Mr Martin to wait outside — just like he'd done to Charlotte not ten minutes ago.

It wasn't three seconds after Arthur closed the front door that Charlotte noticed a figure heading their way — straight outta number six.

"Uh-oh, here we go..."

"What's that?" Questioned Alice, but before Charlotte could explain, the brother was upon them.

"What you think you're doing all the way down here, eh?"

Squatting down right in the street as to be eye level with both the girls, the brother raised an eyebrow. A clear indication he wanted more than just a shrug of the shoulders and an "I dunno."

"I heard the fight and I came down to help."

"Like hell you did."

It was then that Alice piped up in her defence, "Honest, Mr Shelby. Charlie came down and brought the older one with her."

Turning his attention back to his sister, Tommy questioned, "Is that so?"

"Yeah, I s'pose."

"Well, where's our Arthur then?"

Pointing behind Tommy, Charlotte informed, "He's inside with Mrs Martin and the baby."

"Am I to assume that's Mr Martin sittin' there like a sack of grain on the stoop?"

This time Tommy turned to Alice as she hesitantly nodded in affirmation.

Straightening himself and dusting off the street dirt from his trousers, the brother informed, "I guess it's time to get you home then."

Then, quick as a rabbit he had her arm in his grip and began pulling her away from Alice, "No! Tommy, stop. I'm helping."

Between her shouts at her brother, a soft crying was heard just behind them. Pausing mid-stride, Tommy turned to see Alice — now sitting on the dirty road crying into her filthy hands.

"See, I told you. I'm helping Alice."

Taking a deep exasperated sigh, Tommy let loose her arm, and pushed her back towards her friend.

"Right, you stay here and–"

"I was staying here — just like Arthur said to — until you started draggin' me away."

"Alright, alright. I'm goin' inside to see what Arthur's getting himself into. When I get out, I expect to see you both right here, am I clear?"

"Yes."

Tommy gave them both a wink before turning on his heel and crossing the lane to Alice's flat. He exchanged some words with Mr Martin, then disappeared inside.

Both girls sat in silence as Tommy left, unsure what to say or do after the ruckus that the adults had caused.

Her Aunt and brother's were always saying that she always caused a ruckus, but never one had she done anything so noteworthy that the entire lane had come outta their homes to watch. So, she thought to herself, which is it then? The children or the adults? She tucked that argument away for a later time when she knew Polly or Tommy would get on her case for one thing or another.

Feeling far too pleased with herself, Charlotte and Alice were both startled when an angry voice shocked them out of their reverie.

Looking up, Charlotte could see that Alice's father was making his way towards them, fists clenched and face red, "So it was you then?" Looking to each other, neither of the girls knew what the man was on about. An action that only seemed to incite him further. His steps never faltered until all too suddenly he was standing before them, another angry accusation thrown their way, "You're the little cunt that got those peaky boys involved in my business."

The fierceness of his words, the red in his face, and the shaking of anger that flowed through him sent chills up Charlotte's spine. And to her right, Alice squeezed her hand as tightly as she could, even though you'd not be able to tell she wasn't entirely made of marble.

"Don't sit there like you don't know what you did! Come 'ere you brat."

Grabbing her by the arm, Mr Martin pulled her to her feet with an iron grip, ripping her hand out of Alice's, and swinging her out into the lane.

Panic coursed through her and she felt like she couldn't breathe or speak.

"Tell me what you thought you were doing, getting involved in other people's business!"

She didn't know what she wanted her to say. She hadn't intentionally gotten involved, neither had she meant to bring her two oldest brothers down upon his family. But here they were. And she wasn't exactly sure how this was all her fault anyways.

When she didn't respond, Charlotte felt a sudden pain flare up the side of her face, it had happened so quickly she didn't even see it coming. She tried to bring her hand up to feel her face, but Mr Martin's grip effectively kept her from moving.

But after a moment, she knew exactly what had happened. The sonuvabitch slapped her. Right across the face too.

That had never happened before, and it shocked her to her core that someone could be so cruel.

There had been the occasional tap on her mouth from Aunt Polly when Charlotte's mouth had gotten away from herself — cursing, or talking back, or the like. But never something like this.

Suddenly the pain struck her again and she could hear Alice wailing behind her.

At the sudden strike, Charlotte felt her mind come back to her as she took in a deep breath and let loose and ungodly screech that had both her brother's rushing back out into the lane, "Toooooommmyyyyyy!"

She knew she'd been calling for her brother, but even she couldn't be certain what the noise was that left her mouth.

"Shut up you filthy little–" Her eyes went wide as she watched him raise his hand once again. Quickly squeezing her eyes shut, she waited for the impact, but before the pain could resonate once more, she felt arms around her waist pulling her back and away from the angry man.

She weren't crying, but she was breathing so heavily you likely thought she had been.

"Come on now, open your eyes, Charlie-girl."

Doing as was asked she was relieved to find herself in Tommy's arms, resting on his hip as his hands ghosted over the part of her cheek that felt as though it had been lit on fire.

"Is this it? He hit you here?"

She nodded in response, shakily answering, "Twice."

Tommy nodded firmly at her response, "And what of your Alice?"

Twisting her head around she looked to find her friend, and was surprised to find Polly clutching the little girl as Arthur wailed on her father.

"She's there, with Pol. Her daddy didn't do nothin' to her." And as Tommy spun around to see the scene for himself, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face into his shoulder. She felt him moving but didn't care to see where.

All too soon, he was trying to set her onto the ground but she simply wrapped her scrawny little legs around his waist and tightened her hold on his neck.

"No, I don't wanna."

"Charlie, leggo. I gotta deal with Arthur."

"I said, no."

It was then that she felt arms coming in from behind, snaking up beneath her own arms wrapped around Tommy's neck, as Tommy worked to unlock her legs from round him.

The damn disentangling worked like a charm too. And before she knew it, she was watching Tommy walk away toward Arthur and Alice's daddy, while Polly draped one arm over each girl, holding them firmly in place.

As Tommy finally pulled Arthur offa the bleeding man, she heard Mr Martin accuse Arthur of being a bloody madman. Arthur went for him again, but Tommy kept him back.

Keeping the distance between Arthur and Mr Martin, Tommy calmly questioned, "Did you strike our sister?"

"She was sticking' her damn nose where it don't–"

"I asked, did you strike our sister."

This time Tommy had taken two menacing steps forward, holding his razor cap in his hands.

Mr Martin tried to back away, but only hit the brick wall of the Watery Lane row housing, "Now, you listen here–"

"You still haven't answered my question, Mr Martin. Did you strike my sister?!"

"That little bitch deserved it." Polly gasped at his words, Arthur struggled to keep himself calm, and to anyone who knew Tommy, the immediate thought would'a been that he might've lost his temper. But to her — and Arthur and Aunt Polly's — astonishment, he calmly asked a second question. "Right, and how many times?"

Mr Martin shrugged, mumbling, "Dunno," under his breath — much to Charlotte's own irritation.

But this time Charlotte wouldn't keep her mouth shut a second longer — she didn't know if Tommy would believe the man's lie or not, so she set to make the story true, "Twice! He whacked me twice!"

Tommy didn't look to her, but she felt Aunt Pol's hand reach up to tug on one of her braids that ran down the back of her head.

Voice still calm, Tommy questioned, "Is she right? Did you hit our Charlotte twice?"

"I did. And she deserved another!"

Tommy took another step forward and Mr Martin puffed his chest out as if readying for a fight.

Once again, without looking towards them, Tommy called to their Aunt, "Pol, take the girls back to the shop, would you? Then go round and fetch Mrs Martin through the back."

And without a word in response Polly had taken hold of both their arms and hurriedly walked them to number six.

Not too soon after they'd been sat in Arthur's office and the door closed, was Mrs Martin was making her way through the back door of number five. Polly ushered the woman up the stairs and set Lovelock to minding the girls as the shop continued on with their closing business.

Charlotte had given her friend the big chair to sit in at the desk, while she took the smaller chair on the other side. One might've thought the gesture was out of kindness or love for her friend — not that it wasn't entirely — but the real reason was that the smaller chair was closer to the window and more easily gave Charlotte a view into the shop and the front door.

The two waited in silence. Charlotte's eyes never leaving the window into the shop, while Alice scribbled little rabbits and cats onto a blank piece of paper.

It had seemed an entire half a day before Tommy walked through the shop door and Charlotte rushed to press her little cheeks against the window. She watched as he pointed at her to stay put, and then made his way through the double doors into the kitchen.

He was gone for several minutes more — although it seemed a full hour — before returning to the girls trapped like bunnies in a cage.

When he opened the door, Charlotte was upon him, questions flowing from her mouth as she tugged on his shirt sleeve.

Ignoring her energy, Tommy first turned to Alice and asked where her mother was. "She's up stairs with the baby and your Auntie."

"Up you go then, I'm sure she'd like to see your pretty face right about now, eh?" Blushing at the complement, Alice hopped down from her chair and scurried up the stairs.

Then, while she wasn't looking, Tommy scooped her up and set her on the big desk, as he took a seat in the chair across from her.

"How's your face feel?"

She shrugged, "It's fine..."

Sighing aloud Tommy shook his head at her, "No lies, Charlotte. You ain't gotta be as tough as Arthur or as stupid as John, aye?"

Mimicking his sigh, she gave in, "Me head hurts."

"Where? Show me."

Taking her finger she pointed to the spot directly between her eyes. "Here. It's like a drum."

"And how's this here?" Tommy reached forward to touch the side of her face, but she flinched backwards, outta his reach.

"That bad, eh?"

Scoffing at him like he'd accused her of being a baby, she argued, "Not so bad–"

"Charlotte, your damn face is bruised like an apple, and you got the outline of a ring just below your eye. Now tell the truth, you know I don't like being lied to.

Letting her shoulders shrug, she once again gave in, "Right, it hurts a lot. Like the time John shut my finger in the back door."

"Alright then, you come with me and we'll see what Polly's got in these cupboards to help with all your aches and pains."

Motioning her off the desk and into the kitchen, she climbed onto a chair while Tommy rummaged around in their pantry for Polly's medicines and herbs.

Finally finding whatever it was he'd been searching for, he returned to Charlotte, gently setting the supplies on the table.

Watching him intently as he unrolled some bandages, poured some gin into a glass, and set the dark bottle of "the stuff" beside everything else she could help it as he thoughts swirled around her.

Picking up a clean rag from under the sink Tommy began to instruct her, "Now, you sit still and let–"

"Where's Arthur?"

Rolling his eyes Tommy answered, "He had some business to finish up. Now if you'd sit still I'll–"

"And whadda 'bout Mr Martin?"

Sighing at her persistence Tommy informed, "Arthur's finishing up the business with Mr Martin. Arthur won't be back to the house tonight."

At this point Tommy's given up on trying to give Charlotte any warning about what he was about to do. He just needed to get the little cut cleaned and bandaged up before the night turned to morning.

"Is that cause he dumped Mr Martin in the cut?"

Tommy's hand stopped midway to Charlotte's face, "Jesus Christ, Charlotte. Where'd you hear something like that?"

Tommy's voice was raised, but not in an angry way. She couldn't tell if it was best to just cut and run or tell the truth. Taking a deep breath, she eyed her brother carefully, eventually deciding that he wasn't angry with her — after all she'd the one with the cuts and bruises on her face — so she might as well belly up, "I heard John say it."

Leaving the medical supplies forgotten beside him, Tommy crossed his arms and gave her a firm look, "You were spying on him?"

"No." He raised an eyebrow. "Maybe." This time he raised both of them damn brows, making her squirm in her seat, "Yes."

Flicking her on the nose he reprimanded her, "Spying is for coppers and King's men. Are you either of those?" She shook her head, "Then I suggest you quit your spying before Polly finds out and sets you to standing in your corner."

"Fine." She nearly grinned as Tommy eyed her for a moment before rolling his eyes. She had no intention of stopping her sneaking around — and they both knew it. Her agreement was nothing but a false promise. But he tried, she supposed. She'd heard Polly say something like that before — while she'd been sneaking and spying. "Damnit, Thomas. You've got to try — at the bare minimum. Bloody try with her." She knew they were talking about her, but she wasn't quite certain what exactly about her they'd been talking about, but whatever it was, sure had Tommy's knickers in a twist, "Come of it, Pol. She's fucking fantastic, and so is everyone else in this place."

Quickly pulling her head outta the clouds she watched carefully as Tommy picked the rag up and dipped it in the gin. Holding her breath as one of his hands held the back of her head still, and the other brought the rag closer, she once again tried to halt his progress, "But did you?" She knew the gin hurt like hell. She's gotten enough scrapes and cuts running around Uncle Charlie's yard to have had the alcohol poured on her shins and hand plenty of time — but she never got used to it.

No such luck. "Did I what?" Before she could respond, the rag had made contact with the cut just below her eye. The little cut below her eye — likely from Mr Martin's ring — had stopped it's bleeding hours ago, but now it felt like someone had ripped the damn wound open again.

"Ow!" The sting had hit her harder than expected, and she rocked back in her seat. She tried to bring her hand up to the now throbbing spot on her face, only to have Tommy slap it away, "Don't touch it. Unless you want me cleaning it again?"

She crossed her arms and glared, not only had he made her face her more than before, but he'd not answered her question. She squared her shoulders and asked again, "Did you dump Mr Martin in the cut?"

Shaking his head at her, he reached forward to take hold of her chin. Turning her face to the side and into the light, he completely ignored her question, "That cut ain't even bleeding anymore — it's gone dry already." Then releasing her head he moved to pick up the brown bottle and a large spoon, "Let's get some of this in you."

Before he could pour a droplet into the spoon, Charlotte was trying to scramble away. Setting the bottle down, Tommy grabbed her by the shoulders, "Oh no you don't. You're gonna sit right there and take some of this medicine."

"I'm not gonna swallow a drop of that stuff. It tastes like shit."

That earned herself another flick on the nose, "Mind your language." She wanted to tell him that she certainly was minding her language, she had specifically chosen that word to describe that stuff. It does taste like shit, so she mindfully told him so. But she didn't say a thing. She kept her mouth shut and arms crossed.

"Don't give me that look, little lady. You're going to take one spoon of this," He raised the bottle to eye level, "aspirin. And then you're going up to bed. No more questions, no more arguing."

"But why? It tastes–"

Cutting her off before she could whine at him any longer he explained, "It helps with pain and swelling — which is why you're gonna swallow without any more arguments."

"But Tom–" Before she could finish her argument Tommy had reached out without one had to plug her nose as the other hand poured the medicine into her open mouth.

What a sneaky rat! Swallowing the bitter liquid, she shivered in disgust, "That was mean."

"Tough. Take it up with Polly, see what she has to say about it, eh?" Picking her up off the table her set her on the ground, ordering her up to her room to get ready for bed.

Turning and stomping her foot, she tried one last time, "But, Tommy! What about the cut? "

Turning her around and giving her a smack to the rear to get her moving, Tommy responded, "Ask me when you're older, and maybe I'll tell ya."

Stopping on the fifth stair she turned, "That's not fair."

He shrugged, "Neither is life." Then lowering his voice and pointing up the stairs, he demanded, "Now, you get ready for bed."

"But it's so early..."

Taking three angry steps towards her, he ordered, "Now, Charlotte." And before she knew what she was doing, she was scrambling up the steps fast as possible.

That day had been an eye-opener for her. She'd learnt that the worst thing a father could do wasn't up and leaving his children. He could've stayed and hit 'em bruised and bloody — it wasn't until much later in life that she'd learned how her own Da would set her brothers straight when they needed it.

She'd learned that the coppers in the town were useless. Apparently Mrs Martin had shown up at the station multiple times with a black eye and a cut lip, and those lazy pigs didn't do a thing to help the woman — insisting that her domestic life was no concern of theirs.

She's also learnt that a father leaving isn't always a bad thing. Sometimes, it was for the best of the rest of the family for him to be up and gone. She wasn't convinced that this was the case for her own family, but for Alice it seemed to be exactly the case.

And finally, she learnt that it wasn't just father's that up and left — sometimes it were friends too. About a week after Mr Martin's disappearance, Mrs Martin had packed up her house and children and without a word spoken to anyone, she was off. Herself and her children disappearing like a ship in the night.

Tommy had told her that the woman needed to get away from Small Heath. The town was nothing but pain and poor memories for her. He said she'd been off to her family farm back in Wales.

And although it was nice to know that Alice and her brother and her Mother were safe and happy. It wasn't nice to have your only friend up and leave without a single goodbye.

"Sometimes that's how life works," Tommy had told her. "But you just gotta pick yourself up and keep on."

She had, and eventually new mates came along, and Alice Martin had become a thing of the past.

But when she saw that mother and her baby lying on the ground with the coppers standing above her, Charlotte damn near lost her mind in the past. Absolutely refusing to let those coppers get the better of the women, she acted without truly thinking. And thus, she was here.

Stuck in this dungeon because she'd gone and jumped a copper like some sorta junior blinder who ain't even been cut yet.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been sitting in the mouldy cell, but she was certain that it was closer to three hours than to one.

When she'd been brought into the station, she'd promptly had her picture taken no sooner than she was being thrown into this cell.

And every minute that passed she could smell the damp musty mouldy growing on the walls that much clearer.

She wasn't sure if it'd be better to die in this cell, the rotten smell over taking her. Or at the hands of her brother — which was no doubt bound to be painful in more ways than one.

She could only hope that Ezra had gotten away safely and found Tommy — either at the shop or the Garrison, those were her best guesses when she'd shouted at him from the back of the barred wagon.

"Get Tommy! Tell what happened!" She'd been in such a panic at her circumstances that she very clearly hadn't been thinking straight. It might also have been due to the two or three whacks that the copper had landed to head once he'd managed to throw her offa his back, but really it was anybody's guess why she'd told him to find Tommy.

Hell, John or Esme would've been a better choice for salvation. Or Ezra's own parents for that matter. But no, when the time came, her mind whirled, her brains sloshed from side to side, and panic surged through her thoughts and she yelled for Tommy — just like she had all those years ago.

Jesus, she'd likely live to regret that decision.

But now, as the hours weaned on, Charlotte grew ever more concerned that Ezra hadn't gotten away, and that no one would come for her.

She knew it was useless to worry at this point, after all, Moss had seen her when she'd been brought in. An exhausted look on his face and a sigh that could've put all of Small Heath on edge passed his lips as she was taken down to her current location. If Ezra hadn't found anyone in her family by now, Moss was sure to be getting on that.

He sure as fuck wasn't celebrating the good luck of having a Shelby in his station — not like the ones that had brought her in. Her presence in this station would be more of a burden to him than any other singular person that could be brought in the rest of this month — saving, of course, any of her brothers that could manage to be marched through his doors with irons on their wrists.

Nope. Of this she was certain — a Shelby in Moss' care was not preferable in the least.

And here she sat, a human mass in the pits of this dungeon of despair. She'd been sitting in this void long enough to sense that she was the only other creature alive in this place — even the rats steered clear.

The buzz of the electric lighting echoed off the cement walls. The electricity and the lighting humming out two different songs that neither matched the other in tempo or harmony.

The electric buzz was dull and constant. A low tone that could almost be mistaken as a growl. Wouldn't that be something? The growling of the monster held deep in the depths of the Birmingham city jail. A hideous beast held against its will waiting solemnly, anxiously, for the day when sun might grace its skin one last time before the dawn of the ages consumes the beast — gone for good — to be remembered no more.

Or maybe that was just her wishful thinking.

On the other hand, the tinkling hum of the flickering light was almost comforting — almost. The growl of the base electricity never let her forget that she was trapped in this hole, waiting for an actual sentence or a family member to save her from one punishment, only to inflict another.

But the high pitched hum, the pleasant sound of an imaginary firefly tapping on the paper thin glass bulb, it was like a lullaby. The light itself constantly flickered, lashing out a silent beat to match the tapping melody of the glass filament trapped inside it's iridescent prison.

She focused fully on the sounds surrounding her.

The deep, grounded constant buzz. It never stopped to catch its breath. Only ever continued on, steady as a lake. No waves, no pitch, no ebb and flow. Only consistency.

Then there was the entirely silent lighting. The complete lack of sound that emitted from the flickering bulb. A flash, steady, flash-flash, beat that was everything but constant. Sometimes it was a dark nothing for two or three beats, before a flash-flash-flash erupted around her. Or a flash-flash, steady, dark, flash, dark, flash-flash-flash, steady, flash engulfed her senses. It was nearly the beat of jazz. Fast and sudden. Nonsensical, while nevertheless beautiful.

Her favourite was the bright, warm, gentle tapping noise that illuminated from the fragile glass bulb that swung precariously above her head.

Then add in the sudden appearance of the jingling brass keys swaying as a human form stepped left and right, left and right.

With her eyes closed she nearly swayed to the sound, until she realised the newest addition to her symphony — someone was coming.

She waited to see if the jingling footsteps would walk past her door — she knew they wouldn't — but she held her breath in anticipation all the same.

All this noise, simultaneously soft and harsh, subtle and bold — It could've been a symphony for the ages.

Instead it was the sound of her dwindling freedom.

For all the lack of freedom she held in this cell. This moldy, musty, cold, dark, damp room where she could nearly touch both walls simultaneously if she reached out her spread arms far enough, it was infinitely more freedom than what she was bound to experience once her Aunt or Tommy got their hands on her.

She sat on the bench, farthest from the door, her breath held in anticipation, as she listened to the cacophony of music swirling around her.

The steps came closer and closer, the jingle of the brass keys louder and louder, and she prayed that the steps would continue on past her door — though just as she knew the king of the Jews didn't lend an ear to her prayers, so did she know that the heavy footsteps were headed straight for her.

All too soon the rather pleasant face of Sergeant Moss looked through the barred window of the heavy metal door, somehow giving her a look that held both a grin and a scowl.

The keys could be heard flipping the heavy bolt of her cell, followed by the loud creak of the swinging of the door on its old hinges.

"Alright Miss Shelby, lets go." She diligently rose from her spot on the hard bench and put her wrists out for him to fasten the irons back in place. "My apologies for the length of your stay down here — your brother and I had some troubles when it came to your paperwork."

Moss fiddled with the lock on the cuffs encompassing her wrists, but at his statement she nearly jerked her wrists out of the copper's grasp.

Trying to stay calm, Charlotte took a deep breath before asking, "My brother?" The question has come out far more concerned and breathy than she intended. But it was done and she looked up to Moss for a response.

She looked up to Moss, but the man didn't respond. In fact, at her question, Charlotte watched as Tommy stepped out from the shadows into a singular beam of light cascading down the hall from a harsh electric lamp.

She must've let her panic overtake her. She hadn't heard two sets of steps. Only the one with the keys. But maybe that was just her desperate hope that Moss had been alone. A hope that lacked reality.

Tommy didn't say a word, but the look on his face sent ice through her veins.

She'd been allowing Moss to lock her wrists and lead her out of the dingy cell, but at the frightening sight of Tommy's glare she dug in her heels and pulled back — away from both Moss and Tommy.

She'd apparently made her decision — dying in this literally rotting cell was the preferable choice over Tommy getting his hands on her — especially when she was locked in irons with no way to fight back.

Tugging her along, Moss tutted at her, "Come now, there's nothing for it." Finally pulling her out of the cell he turned and made his way down the dark hall, "We've all had the displeasure of having our mum or dad pick us up from our first trip to the station, eh?" Moss was walking and talking, taking the lead in front of her and her brother, but she was still frozen in place. All too suddenly a harsh whack to her rear had her jumping to follow close behind Moss as he rambled on, "Nothing to be done about it, I reckon."

Behind her, Tommy was as silent as a church mouse — no wonder she'd only heard one set of steps — he was keeping his footing light and swift.

As they reached the end of the hallway, the trio made their way up the stairs towards the harsh light of electric lamps. As Tommy and Charlotte made their way through the heavy metal door, Moss kindly asked them to step aside while he locked up.

Stepping aside, Charlotte took this moment to try to sooth the tension between herself and her brother, "Tommy, I'm–"

"Shut it. I don't want to hear a noise from you." His eyes slid to the side, barely taking in a glimpse of her while his head stayed straight on. Looking to all the world — inside this station — a tough and fearsome gangster.

Doing as he asked, Charlotte kept her mouth closed as Moss finished with the dungeon door and led them to a desk, "Right then, Mr Shelby, the paperwork?"

Slapping a few sheets of paper down in front of Moss, Tommy informed, "This is what we've got."

Picking up the paper that Charlotte faintly recognised, "This isn't government issued identification."

"It's the official court order of guardianship over Ada and Charlotte Shelby." Pointing to the specific lines on the paper that Moss was still holding he continued, "Right there — Thomas Shelby is hereby granted guardianship of Charlotte Shelby, born the fourth of January 1906. There's more, but that's the important bits, eh?"

Nodding slowly, Moss hesitantly asked, "Does she not have a birth certificate?"

Tommy sighed as he lit a cigarette, "She was born on a long boat, Moss."

Hoping to help she quietly tried to add in, "There's school records if that–"

Without turning to look at her on the chair beside him, Tommy's cold voice interrupted her offering of assistance, "This is your only warning. Keep your fucking mouth shut." He then exhaled a cloud of smoke as he waited for Moss' judgement over the legality of her papers.

Moss, for his part, looked quite surprised at the sudden flash of anger toward her, and tried to hurry up their business, "Right, well, I suppose that'll have to be good enough."

Shuffling through the paperwork on his desk Moss pulled out two forms and pointed Tommy to sign on a few different lines.

"What am I signing, Moss?"

"Right. This first one says that Charlie here has a legal guardian removing her from our custody. The second says she is who she says she is — that's what the government identification is for. And the third one says that she'll not be charged in any formal court for her crimes — her charges have been dismissed as this was a simple disagreement and her first time in the station."

Clearing his throat, Tommy questioned, "And what exactly were the charges?"

Looking over another piece of paper Moss counted off on his fingers, "Disorderly conduct in a public place."

A second finger was raised in the air, "Combatant behaviour whilst carrying a firearm."

A third finger joined the other two, "And, assaulting two officers while in possession of multiple weapons."

Inhaling a puff off his stick Tommy leaned forward into Moss' personal space, "I have it in good authority, Moss, that she wasn't the instigator in this altercation."

"You can understand how the law might find that unlikely, eh Tom?"

"There are witnesses."

"Who?" Moss was suspicious. Honestly it was more than likely Tommy would've paid multiple someone's off to vouch for her innocence.

This time is was Tommy's turn to count on his fingers, "The mother to start–"

"We can't–" Moss attempted to interrupt, but Tommy plain ignored him.

"The youngest Harlow boy." So it was Ezra that caught up to Tommy. Wonder how that conversation had gone for him?

Rushing to get a word in, Moss pointed out Ezra's connection to herself, "A school boy, and a known mate of your girl's here."

Tommy once again ignored the counterpoint and raised a third and fourth finger, "The neighbours and the seamstress across the street."

Leaning back in his chair, Moss pointed out, "And we've got two officers and a landlord that say otherwise."

"At least take their statements for her record."

"Aye, that I can do Mr Shelby. Have your associates come by the station anytime to give their statement and I'll personally see that it's added to the file here."

"See that you do, Moss."

"Can we get these offa her?" Pointing to the cuffs, Tommy rose to his feet dragging Charlotte along, signalling to all parties involved that he was done here. "And get her belongings returned as well?"

Opening his desk drawer, Moss couldn't keep his opinions to himself as he retrieved her belongings. Reaching in for her holster and gun first he quipped, "Not quite proper for a girl her age to be carrying a gun–"

"Not a safe town anymore is it?" Was Tommy sticking up for her? Or was this one of those situations where family was off limits to criticism from outsiders? Probably the latter.

Next the copper pulled out the knife Tommy had given to her, "She needs that revolver and the knife?"

"Yes. She does." His voice was tense, and he wanted to get a move on, "Did she not have a cap and jacket as well?"

Handing over the rest of her belongings Moss gave the Shelby's a nod before ushering them out the door.

Standing on the steps Charlotte looked around for the car. It was dark, and the lamps barely lit the streets, but it seemed to her the vehicle was nowhere to be seen.

Clearly seeing her thoughts written across her face, Tommy took her by the arm as he instructed, "We're walking."

Choosing to follow Tommy's orders exactly as he'd spoken them, she kept her mouth shut, and the walk was mostly silent.

There was the occasional growl and shake of the head on Tommy's part. A few times he'd even scoffed aloud at whatever thought had gone through his head.

He'd gone through no less than five cigarettes along their trip, and she worried that they weren't providing the calming effect they both wished for him.

As their silent walk weigned on, Charlotte couldn't help but question Tommy's right to be angry over this whole situation. How many times had he been arrested? Or Arthur or John? Granted Ada had never found herself in the same situation. But why was her arrest so goddamned earth shattering?

She wasn't blind to what went on in this town anymore — gangs and crooked coppers seemed to be hiding behind every corner. For fuck's sake, she'd been attacked by a crooked copper and subsequently killed him — shouldn't that count for something?

What she thought it should count for, she wasn't entirely sure.

Acknowledgment of her new found grit? A little more trust? Recognition that she was growing up into a proper peaky blinder? A little more slack as she grew into herself? All of the above? Fuck if she knew.

Whatever it was she knew she had no business bringing it up to Tommy unless she knew for certain. He'd told her on numerous occasions that it was a weak gambit to try to leverage something she either didn't have or didn't know for certain.

It just didn't seem fair that there was an entirely different set of rules for her than there was for them — or even Ada. Yeah, yeah, she knew Tommy and Polly would say, "Life isn't fair," but there had to be times when it bloody well was.

Is that what Ada and Freddie were always preaching about with their "communist propaganda"? Maybe that's all the communism really was — a fair life for everyone. And maybe it was defeatists like Tommy that stood in the way of progress — just for the fuck of it. Jesus, fuck. Did she suddenly have a clear understanding of the communist appeal? She needed to have a talk with Ada as soon as possible.

Lost in her mental back and forth over Tommy's self righteousness, the unjustness of her life, and the clear appeal of a communist government — she barely noticed that Tommy had stopped his angry stomp though Small Heath and was now facing her.

Obviously her absentmindedness had sent him into a tizzy and he clearly couldn't keep his own thoughts and frustrations to himself any longer.

Still keeping her mouth shut and a good amount of distance between them, she waited for Tommy to start in on her when she finally noticed where they were — only a few meters from the gate that led to their garden, or rather the patch of dirt that could be a garden.

Nearly jumping when words finally left her brother's mouth, Charlotte tried to keep her temper in check while his was readying to go off the rails, "Do you understand what you've done?" Taking a step in her direction, he pointed a finger and lowered his voice, "Do you even have a fucking clue?"

Taking the smallest step back, Charlotte tried to keep her attitude in check. She tried to politely say the words, "No, Tommy, I do not," in a calm and even voice. She really did try. But instead she would herself spitting at him, "Obviously not, Tommy. So please, explain why spending a few hours in lockup happens to be so goddamned world wrecking — even though every fucking one of my brothers has participated in the same bloody act — and yet somehow the world continues to spin on its axis!"

His eyes sparked with rage, his nostrils flared as he worked to keep from screaming in the street. His cigarette flicked to the ground and he inhaled so deeply that she counted nearly four seconds before it was over. Then he lunged toward her, faster than she'd thought possible. He reached out, and she flinched expecting a cracking smack across the face. Instead, she felt her jaw pinched beneath his fingers as he yanked her forward into him. Allowing her no personal space of her own.

"You are nothing but a spoiled, smart mouthed, little shit that has nothing better to do with her time than to make life harder for those around her. Those who are doing everything in their power to make your life better!"

She tried to defend herself, but his grip was so strong she couldn't open her mouth to take a breath, let alone argue with him.

"You wanna know what you've done, Charlotte? You wanna know?" He didn't even pause long enough to give her the time to respond — even if his hand still hadn't been clamped onto her face.

"You've got a record now! You're known and available."

She didn't fully understand his meaning, but fortunately for her, he kept on his quiet rant — that was slowly gaining volume.

"Before now, you were just some kid running around Birmingham kicking up trouble here and there. But now... Now you're leverage. Now you're accessible. Now you're one more file in the stack of peaky blinders for those fucking coppers to look over when things go wrong."

He was getting himself worked up and his grip had become bruising on her cheeks. Reaching up, she slapped at his hand as she whimpered for his release. He was going to leave a mark on her face if he kept on this pace, and that was something she knew for a bloody fact he wouldn't want to do to her. Kill her with his own bare hands, sure. But marks on faces was what their father did — and Tommy was nothing if he wasn't the exact opposite.

His eyes moved from hers to his hand and he quickly released her, pausing only slightly to take a quick once over of her face before continuing his lecture as he paced back and forth in front of her. Obviously she was fine and he wasn't about to lose his momentum — he was on a roll with the lecture of a lifetime it seemed, "Now the next time Arthur or I get dragged in there, you wanna know what they're gonna say?"

Too nervous to speak, she shook her head, no.

"They're gonna tell us that we best give them what they're looking for, or they're likely to add another strike to our sister's record. Or maybe they'll give us an ultimatum — we go to prison or you do. Or maybe it's just harassment. Anyway you have it, you think any of us wouldn't choose to rot alone in a cell for the rest of our lives before we give you up or allow you to be used like a pawn?"

Ok, now she was starting to feel a bit guilty. She hadn't really thought about any of that...

"Jesus Christ, You're a child! You can be taken away from us, gone before–"

She shook her head at his instance. There's no way Tommy's let anyone take her. She had faith in him enough that he'd to everything in his power to keep them together, "But you wouldn't let–"

"You think I'd get a choice!? My influence doesn't extend that far, Charlotte. Think about what that would do to Polly? Or Arthur? Just think for once in your fucking life!" He paused for a moment, turning his back to her, and she thought maybe he was done.

Luck was not on her side today, the thought had barely crossed her mind before he was turning back around to continue, "They were trying to take you away tonight! Why do you think you were in there for so long, eh?"

Bringing her hands up to her mouth she nervously chewed on her fingernails, "Thought you were mad–"

"You better fucking believe it. But no, Charlotte, that's not why you were stuck in that station for hours tonight. You were stuck there because unless I provided paperwork proving you're identification, your status as a minor, and proof of your legal guardianship, they were planning on hauling you off to the women's prison in London until a sentencing could be arranged for your crimes." Reaching into his pocket, Tommy fished out another cigarette. As he stuck it in his mouth and worked the match to lighting, she tried to reason with him, "But you didn't let them–"

Speaking from the side of his mouth he started in again, "Because I had the paperwork. Because Moss slowed down the process! You've no fucking clue how close you were to disappearing tonight! No fucking clue!" He was full on shouting now. She'd always thought that calm-angry Tommy was the scariest foe to come up against. But rage-angry Tommy was quickly causing a change of opinion on the matter.

"You'd have been gone. Out of my reach. Nothing a single one of us could do about it." Taking a deep drag before slowly exhaling the smoke towards the sky, Tommy continued, "You thought it'd be unbearable going on the road? Just wait until you're in chains washing the laundry with the other inmates."

Another drag, another exhale, "Jesus Christ, what am I gonna do with you?"

She knew she wasn't meant to answer him, but she couldn't stop herself, "It was only a mistake, I didn't mean–"

Interrupting her, he flicked his ashes to the ground, "You never mean any harm, you never mean this or that. But it doesn't change the fact that there are consequences for your actions — whether they're intentional or not."

Pacing back and forth again, he stopped after only a minute or two, clearly deciding there was nothing more he wanted to say on the subject. Opening up the gated door, he motioned her towards the flat, "Now get the fuck inside."

He wasn't yelling anymore, and she suddenly felt the need to push her luck, "Em, No?" She hadn't meant it to sound like a question, but she hadn't meant it to be demanding either. She was certainly stuck between a boat and its moor.

"Excuse me?" He took a step in her direction, letting loose the garden door. Charlotte winced as the door slammed on its hinges, once, twice, three times.

She tried to stand her ground confidently as she attempted to explain herself, "Can't I just sit on the stairs for a bit? I'm not ready to go inside yet."

"How's that, now?" Rage-angry Tommy had gone, replaced with calm-angry Tommy. She wasn't sure which she preferred anymore.

Taking a calming breath she explained further, "I was inside that cell for hours. I thought the roof was closing in on me. I don't wanna go in yet. Can't I just sit? You'd be able to see me from your office."

Shaking his head Tommy pointed from her to the house, "Get inside." Not waiting for her to react to the order, he turned to open the swinging door once more.

Her frustration was setting her on edge. She'd tried the polite way. She tried to be calm and explain herself — but he never listens."Why can't you just leave me alone for a little bit? Go inside, do whatever the hell you do at night. Figure out your next big plan to make even more money and gain even more power for your precious Peaky Blinders?" Sighing, she ran her fingers through her mussed hair as she added, "Those are the only things you really care about anyway. It's only money and power with you."

"You need to shut your fucking mouth. You don't have a clue what you're talking about." He tossed his nearly finished stick to the ground, stomping out the little flame with the toe of his polished shoe.

That stupid fucking shiny shoe set her teeth on edge. The epitome of what Tommy worked towards — to be a class above what they were born for. What they are. She knew she shouldn't let herself get overwhelmed, she knew she shouldn't give in to her frustration and anger. But deep down that's all she felt any more — frustration and anger and hatred. For Tommy, for her father, for the fucking rapist of a copper, hell even Polly sometimes. And she let those emotions lace every word that came outta her mouth, "Everyone in Small Heath knows it's true. Hell, everyone in Birmingham knows the only thing that Tommy Shelby really cares for is power and cash. Family be damned, unless you need us to further your progress."

While she was barely keeping herself together — forcing back tears and aiming to keep her voice below a shout. Tommy was keeping himself locked firmly into a raging calm tone. It seemed as though every time he kept himself from shouting at her, he made himself speak even lower and quieter, "Everything I've done is to keep you safe and taken care of. For you, and everyone else in this family. This family is the only thing I care about! Everything I've ever done has been for you, and Ada, and the rest of them."

She scoffed at his attempt at martyrdom, "Sure, it's all for us — never for yourself."

"Of course it's for you, you and all the others. But it's my job to take care of you — you are my responsibility."

This time she couldn't keep herself from a raging shout, "Bullshit!"

"Charlotte–"

Ignoring whatever it was he was going to lie about next, she rushed to speak over him, "Don't stand there and prattle on about how I'm your number one priority. Don't act like you want to be my guardian — my substitute father. Don't lie to me with this nonsense about everything you do is for this family! Because it's not. We all know it. It's for you. Tommy Shelby, the most important man this side of civilisation — as far as you're concerned."

"You have no idea what you're talking about. Quit your tantrum, and get inside." He'd had enough. But she was far from done, "I know about France, Tommy."

Staring at her blankly for a few moments, he finally found his voice at the same time he found a new stick to light, "What're you on about? Everybody knows about France." Tossing the match to the ground, his suddenly casual attitude only urged her on.

"I know that you didn't have to go."

Again he stared at her for a few moments, acting as if she were off her rocker, "Of course I had to go. We were at war — every man had to go."

"Not you. You didn't have to go. You chose to." Shaking her head at him, she pointed to herself and what she assumed was London's direction, "You took one look at me and Ada and decided you'd rather face death in the fields of France than stay with us one day longer."

A look crossed over her brother's face. Slight panic, mild anger, a hint of fear, and an overwhelming look of exhaustion mixed equally with frustration. And she knew that he knew exactly what she was on about.

Lazily flicking his ashes to the ground, he tried to ignore the exact issue she was getting at, "Charlotte, listen to me. I had to go to France, all of us did."

"You're a bloody liar."

He raised a finger in her direction, a warning motion. She was having none of it, "Sure, all the others had to go — Arthur, Freddie, John, Danny and Scud, and all the others. That part's true. They were legally required by the King's law. But you — Thomas Shelby — were exempt."

"And how's that, eh?" She could tell he was testing her. He wasn't going to give an inch if he didn't think she had anything on him. It was the same tactic she'd seen him use in business — and with coppers. Make the other person show their hand first, then Tommy would decide if he were going to play the game at all. But she had no problem laying all her cards down. She had him pinned, "The 3-A Hardship Deferment." His face grew slightly pale. She could've shouted for joy if she weren't so bloody deep in it.

Quoting the law that she had looked up all those years ago, she dully cited it for Tommy, "No person of military age shall be required to report for drafted service should induction result in hardship to persons that would depend upon them for support."

Taking a deep breath, she continued, "Single parents or guardians with a child are not eligible for enlistment nor draft. Hardship Deferments are available by application for those who meet these exemption requirements."

He tossed the barely smoked stick to the ground, his eyes never leaving her. For once giving her his full and undivided attention, "Charlie, it's more complicated than all that." His voice was no longer angry — raging, calm, or otherwise.

She wasn't interested in listening to his excuses, "You know it was Mrs Harlow that let it slip. You should've seen her face when she realised that I hadn't known you weren't required to go. You would've thought she'd mistakenly shot my horse."

"Charlie–" It wasn't 'Charlotte' anymore, eh? He was really trying this time. Fuck that.

"We were having a nice dinner. Her mother was in for a visit from London. And Mrs Harlow had been so concentrated with tending to her mother that she let it slip without thinking." Altering her voice slightly she pitched her tone higher to give the impression of Mrs Harlow, "She'd been simply surprised that you chose to go to France. After all, she said, the government couldn't force you to go — you were the sole guardian of two minors. And how could someone choose to up and leave two little girls behind?"

Giving Tommy her angriest glare she added, "That'd be myself and Ada — in case you'd forgotten."

"I am well aware of who is under my guardianship, Charlotte." Back to 'Charlotte' now? Ah, well. Couldn't expect him to act like her big brother for too long — he was Tommy Shelby after all, King of the peaky fucking blinders.

"Mr Harlow could see that I had no clue what she was talking about, and tried to get her to stop. But by that time I'd heard enough. I wanted to know more, but they wouldn't tell me anything. So I convinced Pol to walk me to the library for the next three days. The law also states–"

"I'm well aware of the law, Charlotte."

Nodding at him she felt the need to let him know just how she felt about his knowledge of the law, "Oh good, so you aren't stupid. You just didn't care."

Sighing at her, Tommy opened his mouth to speak, but when no words came, he shook his head. Running both hands through his hair he cleared his throat, and suddenly words appeared, "You're right — I wasn't enlisted. I volunteered. I volunteered to keep my brothers safe. And look, we all came back!" He was speaking to her as if she were a child. Slow and clear, steady and firm. Hopeful that she'd just give in to his excuse and end this standoff altogether.

He'd run outta luck, she wasn't interested in his bullshit excuses, "But you might not have! You didn't know! You didn't know what was gonna happen! And you chose to leave us! You chose to abandon me!"

"You weren't abandoned — you had Polly, and Ada. You three would've been fine without us."

"You don't know that. The fact is you chose to leave when you didn't–"

Interrupting her, Tommy's voice grew exasperated, "I had to, Charlie! I had to! I couldn't have stayed behind! It's not who I am. It's not who this family needed me to be. You wouldn't have wanted a brother who'd not–"

This time it was her turn to interrupt him, "I wanted a living brother! I wanted someone who was there for me. But instead I've got you — some sort of shell of the person you were before. You're angrier, meaner, harder. You're not you. I want my brothers back. I want the ones I had before France! I want a normal life with a normal family. A mother that didn't die, a father that doesn't hate his own children, and brothers that don't scream in their sleep for the horrors that they've seen in another life."

She took a deep breath before adding, "First Mama left, then Da, then you–"

"I came back–"

She let her head fall backwards in frustration as she looked to the skies for help. She took a breath before attempting to explain one last time, "No, Tommy, you didn't come back. You're barely a brother. You're an empty vessel, full of anger and gin and sulphur. My brother never came back from France. What I got is some sort of demonic shell of a man who only cares about murder and money."

Taking in every word she said he finally let his shoulders sag as he pointed to the house, "I'm not having this argument out here for all the neighbours to hear. We need to take this inside."

Oh, he wanted to do this part again? "No."

"It's been a long day, Charlie. Just go inside." He wasn't pleading, but he also wasn't demanding. But she still wasn't interested in being stuck alone in the house with him, "It has been a long day, but I'm not ready to go inside."

Rolling his head, Tommy dropped all pretence of the understanding brother, and reverted back to ordering her around, "Charlotte Shelby get inside before I drag you in — this isn't a negotiation."

Shaking her head, she spat back, "Nothing with you ever is."

Goddamnit, would you please just get inside?"

"Look, Tommy. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I swear it. But can't I just have some air for a bit? I'm not going anywhere — I promise I'll stay in the garden." She just wanted a little bit of time in the night air to clear the damp mould from her lungs. Just a little time on her own before she gets locked up again — this time forever.

"Jesus Christ, Charlotte, you don't get it — I don't have a bloody ounce of trust in you at the moment. Your promises mean nothing to me. I trusted you to follow the rules, and you went and got yourself arrested."

She was gutted. She felt her insides turn to mush. Her chest grew tight and her heart began to beat out an erratic rhythm. She felt as though she were falling apart, but she couldn't let him see her weakness, "The rules that I didn't get a say in?" The words came out firm, if not a bit shaky.

"Your fourteen fucking years old, you don't get a say in the rules, Charlotte." He was speaking to her as if she were a toddler again. As if she didn't know or fully understand how things worked in their lives. "I make the law, and you fucking follow it."

Bending over, she rested her hands on her knees. She needed to breathe out her frustration. She needed to keep herself from falling into a hysteria. She also needed to stop looking at her brother, if only for a few seconds. She needed him to stop, "Can't you just stop for once?" She needed him to stop acting like their father. She needed a brother. Sitting in that cell all day scared her. There were moments that she was actually terrified — whether she chose to admit it at the time or not. She'd been locked in a cell without any protection, with a station full of coppers just above her head. Any one of them could've gotten it in their heads to come down to pay her a visit. She'd been all alone with an army of men who hated her and her family just above her head.

If Tommy responded, she didn't hear him. She kept breathing deeply as she stared at the dirt beneath her feet. She just wanted him to be normal, she just wanted her big brother, "Couldn't you try to be my brother?" She should've stopped there, but instead she brought herself upright as her mouth continued on, "You're not Aunt Pol and you're sure as fuck not my father."

She hoped her words would have an effect on Tommy. Turns out they did, just not the effect she wanted. As she spoke of Polly and their father, Tommy's eyes went wide in anger. She shouldn't have mentioned the old man. She knew it was bound to set him off on the best of days, and this day was not one of those days.

The look on his face scared her, and before she knew what was happening her arm was in his grasp and he was dragging her towards the house. Then the panic that she was keeping on low rushed to the surface and she started struggling. No, not struggling — flipping the fuck out.

Reaching up with her free arm, she put all her weight behind the slap that echoed across Tommy's face. That managed to stun him into halting his movement — but she still needed to get free of his grip. The strength of her panic raged through her and all too suddenly her boot was connecting with the side of his knee. A growl of pain left his lips and she took her chance to rip her arm out of his grasp. Then, just for good measure, she lunged forward, effectively pushing him into the wooden fence surrounding their properties, "Don't fucking touch me!"

As he stumbled back she realised she was only making him angrier, but she'd crossed the line and there was no turning back now. She was fighting for her independence. She was fighting for her freedom.

Both siblings were breathing heavily, anger coursing through them. Finally Tommy squared his shoulders, planted his feet. Bringing himself to his full height, he allowed his anger to take control as he pointed to the space in front of him and growled, "Come here, now."

She shook her head at him.

"I'm not kidding, Charlotte. Come here."

"I'm not kidding either, Thomas. No."

She could see the rage in him boil over. He took a step in her direction. She took a step backwards — away from him. He took another forward, she took another backwards. Trying to keep the same amount of distance between them, Charlotte and Tommy continued on in this dance until Charlotte felt the rough wood of the alley fence opposite Watery Lane against her back."

"You've got one more chance–"

Interrupting him, she made her intentions viciously clear. "Fuck you."

Clenching his jaw he muttered, "I'm not playing this game anymore." Before marching menacing toward her.

Panicking as his clear intentions to take hold of her again, she allowed instinct to overtake all logical thought, and before she knew what she was doing, she had her gun raised — pointed directly at her brother.

She was not only successful in stopping his advances, but also in enraging him further. Whenever they got into these fights she always thought to herself, 'I've never seen him this angry before.' But now it was really true. She'd never seen him like this before.

His jaw was clenched, his body rigged, and he was rapidly clenching and unclenching his fists. It felt like they'd been standing there for ten minutes by the time Tommy's voice filled the air.

When it did, she shivered. It was already a cold winter night, the fire was dying down, but his voice made her feel as if she were standing in the middle of a frozen field without her clothes.

"Give me the gun."

Instead, she cocked the hammer. No thoughts, only fear driven instincts.

His cool voice was gone, "Give me the fucking gun!"

He didn't move towards her, but instead held out his hand for the weapon in question. His whole body shook as he waited for her to follow his order, making her more scared than she'd felt in months.

She didn't know what to do now. She hadn't planned on pulling her gun. She hadn't planned on things going this far. She had no plan whatsoever. Tommy always said this was her biggest weakness — not thinking things through — and now she was proving him correct, once again.

Taking a step toward him, gun still raised and cocked, she demanded, "Step back." Wordlessly — and to her surprise — he did as she demanded.

Their dance had reversed. This time for every forward step she took, he took one backwards. Taking four steps forward she allowed him to believe that she was going to hand him her gun.

Once they were both within the fenced barrier that surrounded their garden, Charlotte moved to rest her hand on the gated door. Muttering a quick "I'm sorry," she spun on her heel, moving as quickly as possible to make her way outside the garden before slamming the door into place and rushing down the alleyway.

She knew she was in trouble. She knew this whole day had been one big mistake after another. But she also knew that now was the time to run as quickly as humanly possible.

"Charlotte!" She could hear Tommy yelling at her from behind. She'd already made it half way down the alley when she heard him yelling her name again. Spinning to face him in one quick moment of regret she flinched when she saw him running after her and the gun in her hand went off.

As the dirt and gravel from the ground billowed up and away from the place where the bullet found its home, she heard Tommy shout, "Shit!"

Shit was right. She'd forgotten to release the hammer on the gun. She'd been running away with a loaded and primed weapon. And she'd shot at him.

Holy fuck!

He was going to strangle her.

He was going to take her gun and shoot her with it.

He was going to pick her in her room until she starved to death.

Bloody hell, what was she doing? She need to run.

Snapping out of her reverie she turned on her heel and began running once again. She pushed herself to run faster than she's ever run before. She needed to get away before the dust cleared and Tommy was able to see where she was going.

Running through the dark streets of Birmingham, one fist clenched the other gripping a gun, she had no idea where she was going. Running aimlessly she figured that if she didn't know where she was going, there'd be no way Tommy would be able to figure it out either.

Darting left and right, taking a sharp turn here, running across a bridge there, she'd felt like she'd been running for an hour when she finally stopped. Looking around and taking in her location she saw that she'd run down to the canals across from the train station.

Taking a seat on the ground she leaned her back against the cold brick wall and tried to figure out what to do next.

She couldn't go to the yard — that would be the first place Tommy would look. And she didn't necessarily trust her uncle to not give her up after hearing what she'd done.

The Harlow home was out of the question. Ezra's mom would never lie for her to her brother. She wasn't sweet on any of the Shelby boys, but she believed that lies ate up your soul.

She could go out and find the Lee caravan, generally speaking they weren't fond of Tommy either. But if Esme or John found out, she'd be marched home at gunpoint. Fitting, that.

Looking across the canal to the lone train sitting on the tracks, she got an idea.

A while back John and Arthur had started tossing her a few shillings for checking their maths before they passed the books off to Tommy.

She'd gotten in the habit of stashing her payments in a secret pocket in the inside lining for her jacket, safe and sound of any pickpockets — or coppers. There ought to be a few guineas in there, more than enough for a train ride.

Or was possible — although unlikely Tommy would think to look for her at the train station. But at this point she didn't really have any other options. Unless she wanted to spend the next few nights freezing in the old barn out past Uncle Charlie's yard, this was it for her.

* * *

Making her way down the streets of London from King's Cross Station, Charlotte tried to remember where it was she was headed. She'd been there a few times now, but always in a car.

She knew it was on Northington, and she knew it wasn't far from the station. Last time she'd been she remembered being able to hear the screeches of the brakes and the whistles from the trains.

Stopping on a street corner, a newsboy was taking shelter from the rain as he tried to hawk his papers, "Mate, you know where Northington Street is?"

Her luck was clearly turning around as the kid gave her directions, and she was on her way. Just a few minutes later and she was raising her fist to knock on the door she believed to be the one she'd been in search of.

As she gave a few polite knocks, and waited. She could hear some sort of ruckus on the other side of the door, but nobody came to greet her. After waiting another moment and still getting no response, she knocked again — a little louder than before. This time she could hear stomping and grumblings gaining on the front door.

Before she'd gotten the chance to step back from the door, the damn thing was flying open, the wind and rain whipping around her. She flinched as her cap flew off her head as the head of the house bluntly asked, "What do you want?"

Reaching down to grab her cap out of a puddle, her long hair tumbled down around her face, obstructing her vision. Pushing the offending whisps out of her way she took hold of the now sopping cap, straightened herself and jokingly questioned, "Orright then?"

Edit: Got too excited to post this chapter and had to fix some formatting and grammatical issues!


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